


His Last Vow (Johnlock)

by WhoLocked93



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Death, Feels, Goodbyes, Johnlock - Freeform, Loss, Lost Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-25
Updated: 2014-10-13
Packaged: 2018-01-13 18:25:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 32,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1236523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhoLocked93/pseuds/WhoLocked93
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John has only a year left to live. The news leaves Sherlock distraught and broken, but Sherlock makes a vow to make the last year of John's life the best year he's ever had. This is Sherlock's last vow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Diagnosis

**Author's Note:**

> A new story up! I really like this one. It has a lot of angst in it and it makes it hard for me to write sometimes lol  
> I honestly don't know why I write so much sadness and destruction, but I do and I probably always will at some point in all my stories.  
> This is an ongoing story and I hope you enjoy it.  
> Vote, comment, and share.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I do not own BBC Sherlock, the original story by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, and the fanart/picture. I give all credit to the original creators. I just own this story. You may not take my fanfic and use it as your own work. Thank you.
> 
>  
> 
> Xoxo,  
> Molly

**Sherlock**

Ilean heavily against the cold chair, my legs not willing to support me any longer. They feel like jam. My stomach tosses and turns horribly, threatening me to retch. A thin layer of sweat coated my entire body. I feel cold down to my core. I'm in complete and utter shock by the news I just had the misfortune to hear.

I can't wrap my brilliant mind around it. Sherlock Holmes, master of his mind and all it contains, but I couldn't break past the wall that formed around the words I just heard.

One year. That was all they were giving my blogger. One year left of John's life and he would be gone. Snuffed from this earth and buried in the ground, never to return.

John sits there completely still. If someone were to peer in from the outside, they would think that I was the one that was dying and John was the strong wall that held me up. I wish that were the case.

I am fascinated by John's ability to keep his compousure. However much John looks compoused by the grave news, I can catch just a glimpse of what was really behind his mask. I can see through everyone's mask, but John had always been particularly difficult. He never ceased to amaze me on what he would do. He always surprised me. I would never let John know that of course; he'd probably laugh at me.

But right now, I stare at my blogger as he sits completely still like a statue. His arms are tightly glued to his side, hands clenched in an unmoving fist. He's in his army stance. It's how John disconnects himself from unpleasant situations. He brings up his army front and won't let anything in, but I can see a little bit of what was going on behind his tough mask. He's scared; terrified that he only had one year left on this earth, but he'd be dammed if he let anyone else see that he was like a frightened child on the inside.

The doctor was still going on about the details, but I wasn't listening anymore. I just looked at John. My blogger, observing every bit of his detail, already committing it to memory. Every now and then I'd pick up words, such as _inoperable, make him comfortable, arrangements..._ Much to my regret as whenever these words are spoken I feel a small part of me rip open and die.

My throat tightens to a hair pin width as my body tries to betray how much the news was affecting me. I wouldn't let it however. I will remain strong. No one will see how much this was affecting me, not even John.

You see, John has a rare and fatal brain tumour forming in cerebrum. As time progresses his mind will deteriorate. The tumour is located in a part of the brain that will affect every aspect of his cerebrum. His ability to move, vision, hearing, communication, and memory will all decline slowly over time. His emotions and personality will begin to alter as the tumour grows. He will have massive, debilitating headaches. The doctor has given him medication to help ease him through all of this, but it won't keep John alive.

As I thinks about the painful times that lie ahead of John and I, I hardly noticed the doctor's departure. Thus leaving the dying blogger and distraught detective alone.

"Suppose we should head back to Baker St now." John says, tightly. Breaking the silence.

"Uh... Yeah..." I says quietly, standing up slowly. John begins to put on his coat when I quickly walks over, grabbing ahold of it to help John in. He looks at me confused, but his expression quickly changes to that of sadness and compassion. With a painful ache in my chest an stinging in my eyes, John slides easily into his coat, giving me a quiet ta.

We make our way to the door. Neither of us willing to talk about what's happening. My cold heart begins to break into a million pieces as John's becomes hard and callous.

We step out onto the street and hail a cab, making the quiet journey to Baker St.

I feel myself become ancy, no longer being able to bear the silence I turn to John.

"We need to talk about this." I says, staring at my blogger sadly. Normally I wouldn't be peeved by the silence, I use to revel in it. But now I simply can't sit here and pretend nothing is wrong. I have to talk to John about this, but John is not so willing.

"No, Sherlock. We don't." He responds coldly not looking at me.

"But John..." I begin to plead, but he cuts me off.

"No, Sherlock. We're not talking about this and that's final!" He raises his voice, causing the cabbie to look at us oddly.

I feel all my energy physically leave me and I slump against the seat, defeated. _Why won't John talk to me about this? Why is he shutting me out? It's so unlike him. He's the one that always wants to talk things through, but now that his clock is counting down he refuses to let me in. I just want him to let me in..._

We remain in silence the rest of the way to Baker St. I glance at John to see him just staring out the window, watching the building and people pass by. I turn to look out mine, but I don't watch what we pass. I don't see anything. I stare unseeing outside, willing my emotions, the emotions I have always been a master of, not to betray me. I simply wants to weep, but I won't let myself. Not here. Not now.

As we arrive at Baker St., I practically throw myself out of the cab and run upstairs, leaving John to deal with the cabbie.

He walks up the stairs only to enter an empty flat. He glances to the direction of Sherlock's room and can see the shadow movements of his detective under the door. He sighs sadly and goes to the kitchen to make two cuppas.

I tear into the flat and into my room, closing the door behind me before I collapse.

My emotions take over and I weep in a pile on the ground. I feel like I've been stabbed in the heart. I clutch my chest against the pain and place my other hand firmly over my mouth to quiet my sobs as I hear John make his way up to the flat. He pauses and then begins to make his way to the kitchen, probably for tea.

I continue to sob against my hand, my breathing is rough and laboured as my cries come out as whimpers and gasps. I can't hold myself up in the sitting position any longer and I collapse weakly onto the ground. I curl onto my side, pulling my knees up to my chest, and burying my head against my knees. I can feel my hot sticky breath against my face and my head is starting to pound with the onset of a cry induced headache. My face feels swollen, but I can't stop the tears from falling. I lie there for a while longer slowly gaining my compousure. I can hear John softly approaching my door.

"Sherlock? I made you a cuppa..." He says, waiting for a response. When their is none, he continues. "Right. I'll... uhh... just set it right outside your door."

I hear the cup being set on the floor followed by John's slow retreat. With the effort of seemingly a thousand men, I picks myself slowly off the floor. I run my fingers gently through my hair and fix my lopsided shirt. I straightens my shoulders and tilt my head high. I wipe the remainder of my tears off my face and opens the door.

I pick up the tea John had left there for me and softens my expression to one of content. I make my way to the sitting room where John is sitting alone, lost in his thoughts. He smiles at my approach, glad to not be left alone. We sit across from each other, talking and watching crap telly. Neither of us bringing up the devastating news we heard just hours prior.

Hours pass and John soon departs to his room. I bid him goodnight and remains in the sitting room.

In that exact moment in time, I make a silent vow to myself that I will make this last year the best year of John's life. I will make John's final year his most memorable. So when it's time to say goodbye, John will have only happy memories to think upon. I will never leave his side, not for one moment, not for one second. I will be with my blogger until his last breath. Forever the Holmes to my Watson. This will be my last vow.  
  


To be continued...


	2. Symptom's Emerge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I just read my last chapter and dear god it was sad. I am so, so sorry (not really *snickers*)
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter. Let me know what you think!
> 
> Xoxo,  
> Molly

**John**

I wake uncomfortably from my sleep. I open my eyes only to be instantly blinded by the sun that peaks through the closed curtains. It hurts and makes my eyes water.

With a groan and stumbling slightly I pull myself out of bed. I turn my back against the light and open my eyes slightly, hoping for them to adjust to the already dim room. After a couple moments of waiting for them to adjust, I give up.

With a sigh, I pull on my robe. I keep my face angled away from the light and make my way to the loo.

I enter the loo and decide not to turn on the light. If the dim light filtering through the curtain hurt, the light from the bathroom would almost certainly be unbearable.

Shrouded in complete darkness, I begin my morning routine. It's rather difficult and it take longer than usual, but I manage.

I step out of the bathroom with my eyes directed at the ground, ready to shield them from any light.

As I reach the sitting room, I stop in my tracks. All the lights are off, except for one. Sherlock sits in his chair, hands in a steeple against his lips with his eyes closed. He looks to be in his mind palace, but I know him and he is not; he's just pretending to be.

A sad smile forms on my lips as I shuffle over to him. Upon hearing my approach Sherlock opens his eyes and drops his hands. He looks upon me with sad, concerned filled eyes.

"Thank you." I say, sincerely as I place a hand on his shoulder. Sparks shoot through me at the touch, making my heart skip a beat.

"Anytime." Sherlock responds softly, placing his hand on top of mine and rubbing the pad of his thumb gently over my knuckles. After a moment, I withdraw my hand reluctantly from under his.

"Tea?"

"Yes, please."

I makes my way to the kitchen and start to prepare our tea. My back is turned towards the sitting room, so I don't hear Sherlock's completely silent approach until he whispers just inches away from my ear.

"You okay?"

"Bloody hell, Sherlock! You about gave me a heart attack!" I say nearly jumping out of my skin and clutching my chest against my rapid beating heart. "Why did you..." My sentence is cut off when I turn around only to see that his face is just a couple millimetres away from mine. My breathing hitches and my heart begin to race for a completely different reason now.

I glance down at his lips as a fight begins to rage on in my mind. I love Sherlock. I always have. I have been resisting and trying to squash these feelings for a long time. But now, I just want to press my lips against his beautiful, full cupid bow ones.

My clock is counting down faster than it should. I only have a year left, if that. If their was a time to show Sherlock how I feel; it would be now. All I have to do is lean forward slightly and press my lips to his. I begin to move forward just as Sherlock takes a half step back.

"Do you need help?" Sherlock asks appearing completely oblivious to what I was about to do. An awkward tension begins to bloom in the air around us.

"Umm... no... I...I've got it." I says feebly. I feel myself blush scarlet as I try to will myself to calm down.

"Alright." He says simply and departs.

At Sherlock's depart, I lean heavily against the counter, placing my head into my hands. I take a couple extra minutes then necessary to prepare our tea before bringing the cups to our usual sitting spot.

As I near, the room begins to tilt an turn violently. I stumble over my feet trying to regain my balance to no avail. The cups fall out of my hands and crash to the floor, splattering hot tea and glass everywhere. I'm unable to keep myself upright and begin falling. I can hear a distant shout of my name as I brace myself for impact. Just as I'm about to hit I feel warm, strong hands grasp my waist firmly.

I look up slightly disorientated to see Sherlock's infinite aquamarine eyes staring at me with overwhelming concern. He brings me up right, but I stumble and lean heavily against him. He grasps me tighter and allows me to lean against him as I try to regain my balance. My head swims and my ears ring horribly loud. After a couple of moments everything levels out, but neither of us let go of each other yet.

Both of Sherlock's hands are grasping low on my hips. His fingers are clenched tight as if he's afraid to let me go. His face is angled down towards mine as his beautiful galaxy eyes peer deeply into my blue ones. I realise with a surprise that I'm grasping tightly onto him as well. My hands hold onto Sherlock's surprisingly muscular bicep. Our bodies are so precariously close to each other that you couldn't stick a piece of paper between us.

Much to my disappointment, Sherlock's first to break the embrace. He runs his hand through his raven curls and blows out a puff of air he'd been holding in and takes a step back.

"Let's get this cleaned up." Sherlock says quietly. He bends down and starts to pick up the broken glass. _Dear god, he's going to cut himself._

"Here let me get the broom before you cut yourself." I interject as I make my way to the broom closet.

"No. It's alright. I'll get it." He says jumping up and tiptoeing around the glass and brushing past me. I feel anger course through me and I have to clench my fists to keep me from out bursting.

"Sherlock..." I say through gritted teeth.

"What is it, John?" He asks, painfully oblivious to my anger.

"Look. I know that I..." I trail off, unable to say it. I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself before continuing "That I'm... sick, but don't start treating me differently because of it." I finish trying to break through the lump that has formed in the back of my throat out of anger and devastation.

"John..." He begins to plead and I lose it. I snap.

"No, Sherlock! Just stop it! Okay! Stop treating me like... like I'm dying!!" I shout. Tears fall rapidly down my face much to my agitation and I wipe them away angrily. Sherlock just stands there perplexed before his features soften sadly and his shoulders slump.

"I'm sorry, John. I didn't mean to..." He responds quietly.

As quickly as my anger came, it left me. Taking all my energy with it, making me feel foolish and tired. _Why did I just yell at him? He's just trying to help... Jesus, John. He didn't do anything wrong. Pull yourself together._

"No. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have shouted. You were just trying to help."

"Don't apologise, okay?" Sherlock says tenderly as he moves closer to me. He places his hands firmly on my shoulder giving me a reassuring squeeze. This kind notion surprises me. What's happening to my detective. He's always so cold and placid. Now, he's so... so _human._

Imentally shakes the thought from my head, shrugging it off to the dizzy spells and give Sherlock a tight nod. That was a bad idea as another wave of dizziness overtakes me so soon after my first one.

I begin to lean from side to side trying to regain my balance, but I'm failing miserably. I can feel Sherlock move his grip from my shoulders to wrapping his long, slender arms around me, pulling me closer towards him.

"I've got you. Don't worry. I won't let you fall." He whispers. I can feel wettness drop on my head, but I'm too disorientated to figure out where it came from.

I clutch Sherlock's waist desperately, afraid that if I let go I'll fall. Sherlock brings one hand up to my head and gently pushes down until my head is resting firmly against his chest and begins to stroke my hair softly.

It takes longer for me to recover than the first dizzy spell. After about five minutes of Sherlock stroking my hair with my eyes closed, the dizziness slowly begins to recede. Once the world stops spinning around me, I lift my head and look up into Sherlock's sad eyes.

"Thank you." I says, sincerely.

"Anytime." He says barely audible, he pauses and looks at me again before continuing. "I think it's time to pick up your medicine."

I press my lips into a small frowning line and mumble my agreement.

It's only been a week since my diagnosis. I was hoping I could go on a bit longer without medication, but that doesn't seem to look possible for much longer. I just wasn't expecting all this to start happening so soon... The doctor said that further symptoms wouldn't start emerging for a couple of months....

We both begin to pull away from the embrace, but not before Sherlock's hand falls down to grasp mine. I look up at him surprised, but he's not looking at me. His jaw is clenched and his eyes look distant. He walks me slowly to my chair and gestures for me to sit down. I naturally resist.

"What about the mess?" I ask, stubbornly.

"It's already stained the carpet. Leaving it there until I get back won't make much of a difference." He says with a resigned shrug still not meeting my eyes. Sadness encompasses me and I sit heavily down on my chair.

"Right."

"I'll be back in fifteen." He says pulling on his coat and wrapping his scarf around his pale neck. He begins to make his way to the door before stopping in the threshold finally looking at me. "John?"

"Yes?"

"Please don't move whilst I'm out."

I look at him sadly before simply nodding. I have no wish to move right now.

I listen to Sherlock's quick departure down the stairs. Once I hear the sound of the door close, I heart wrenching sob rips from my chest.

I muffle the loud sobs that rack my body as tears flood down my check and onto my robe. I finally allow myself to feel for the first time since my diagnosis. I've shut them off since that day, but the new curse of dizzy spells brought the reality of it up to the fore front and I can't help but weep.

I think of Sherlock and a new wave of sobs over take me.

_Who's going to tell him to eat regularly, to got to bed after being up for too long? Who's going to keep the body parts out of the food shelf in the fridge and the eyeballs out of the microwave? Who's going to stop him from shooting the wall or hide his cigarettes when cases get particularly difficult?....._

New and tragically horrible thoughts flutter through my head.

_Who's going to go on cases with him after I'm gone? Who's going to defend him against Donovan and Anderson's spit fire and constantly calling him a freak? Who will tell him how truly wonderful and brilliant he is after he spouts off a string of deductions? Who will be by his side, running after a criminal whilst saving each other's lives?... Who will save him from himself?_

I rub my palms fitfully against my eyes, attempting wipe away any evidence of my tears even though more continue to fall. My shoulders slump and I feel mentally and emotionally weak.

_Why does it have to be this way? Why do I have to leave this world when Sherlock only just came back into it? Why is life so cruel?...._

I think about the cold, hard ground I will soon be buried in. The day my eyes will close and never reopen. I hope Sherlock will be by my side. I want him to be the last person I see, before my eyes close for the last time. I wonder if he'll stay by my side to the very end or will he leave me to say goodbye to the world alone. Will Sherlock even miss me after I've gone.

The sad truth is probably not.

 

To be continued...


	3. Anger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonjour!
> 
> Here is another chapter! I am so sorry for the lag in updating!! I really like the first part if this chapter and I hope you do, too!!
> 
>  
> 
> Xoxo,  
> Molly

**Sherlock**

I tear out of the flat, slamming the door loudly behind me. My legs are giving out and I push past the people in my way, not caring who I hit.

My heart beats painfully, I feel like I'm dying. I wish I was. I wish I was dying and not John. Not my John.

I stumble over my feet and fall into a wall. I see an alley in the distance and will my legs to move me towards it. I throw myself into the dark, dank alley and let a sob escape me.

My hands hold me up against the wall as I place my forehead against the cool, hard surface as tears stream down my face.

John's face flutters in front of my closed eyes. He looks happy. His smiling face looking back at me, comforting me.

_John_.

The images in my head slowly begin to change. John is now typing up a blog entry, using just two fingers to type. I smile. He never uses all his fingers, it use to agitate me to no bloody end, but now it makes me smile as it is something that makes John who he is and I would never want that to change.

The image waves away and new ones begin to form. John falling asleep on the couch, snoring softly. John trying to force me to eat and failing. John flinging insults back at Donovan after she insults me. John running with me trying to catch a criminal. John giggling at a crime scene. John killing someone to protect me...

John sitting in the doctor's office, emotionless. John refusing to talk to me. John wincing at any form of light. John falling trying to bring me tea. John lying in his bed, dying. John taking his last breath. John closing his eyes for the last time. John being lowered into the ground...

_John. John. John._

I push myself roughly off the wall and begin to pace, anger beginning to build inside of me. I crouch down on the ground, running my hands harshly through my curls, pulling some out. I stand quickly and throw my hands hard against the wall. Tears of anger, sorrow, and devastation pool in buckets down my face.

I slam my fist against the wall. Pain shoots through my hand, but I don't care. I hit it again, harder. Then again and again and again, my hand going numb from pain. I keep hitting it, my hand breaking, but it doesn't stop me. I hit it over and over again harder each time as blood coats my entire hand.

I hear someone approach, but I don't care. I don't care about anyone or anything right now. Only John. All I care about is John.

"Sherlock." A sad, familiar voice says.

I ignore the voice and continue punching the wall. Blood blots the wall from my hand now, but I continue to hit it, beginning to break some of the weakening plaster.

"Sherlock. Please stop. Stop for John." Mycroft says, placing a hand on my shoulder.

"Why. Should. I?!" I say, punctuating every word with a blow to the wall.

"John will be upset. He doesn't want to see you hurting yourself over him." He says, trying to get through to me. It works as I stop beating abuse to the wall and place my forehead against it in defeat instead.

Mycroft's hand still rests tenderly on my shoulder, as waves of sobs rack my entire body. He waits silently, letting me sob through my pain.

"He's dying, Mycroft. John's dying." I say, brokenly still not looking at him.

"I know, dear brother. I'm so sorry."

I finally turn to look at him. He looks at me tenderly and consumed with worry. Our brotherly war forgotten.

"I don't know what to do." I cry.

"There is nothing you can do." He says, solemnly.

"There has to do _something_. _Anything_." I reply, strained.

He remains silent. For the first time unsure of what to say. Unsure of what to do to comfort his baby brother.

"I wish that were possible, but John's condition is extensive. There is nothing you can do." He says, eventually.

"STOP SAYING THAT!!" I shout, rounding on him. "YOU EXPECT ME TO SIT HERE AND WATCH HIM DIE!!!!"

"Yes." He says, simply completely unaffected by my outburst.

"I can't, Mycroft! I can't! I won't be able to live through this! I need John! I need him!!" I sob frantically. I feel like I'm losing my mind. Like my mind palace is crumbling down around me.

"I've always told you that caring is not an advantage." He says, coldly.

His words shock me like a bucket of cold water being splashed upon me. I take a step back, stunned as he continues.

"If you didn't care for John Watson you wouldn't be affected by his impending doom." He says leaning against his umbrella.

My vision clouds in rage. It turns everything to shades of red. It's so strong I feel my head is going to explode. The red hot boiling rage consumes me and I snap.

I bring my mangled fist up and swing, punching Mycroft right in his jaw. He stumbles backward, stunned as he touches his cheek.

"Don't you _ever_ say that to me. Don't you ever say that caring for John was a mistake." I say deadly quiet.

Mycroft shifts his jaw around, testing it before wiping a bit of blood away from the corner of his mouth with an 'MH' embroidered handkerchief before speaking.

"I never said it was a mistake. I simply said it was not an advantage." He says, wincing at the pain of moving his jaw.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean, Mycroft?" I ask, cross.

He pauses, picking his words carefully before speaking. "Caring for John Watson is the best thing that has ever happened to you." He finally says.

My anger leaves me abruptly as the shock of his words break through my mind.

"The love you hold for him is admirable. Something I will regrettably never feel.” He says, with surprising tenderness. "You found yourself a goldfish." He finishes with a sad smile.

His words make me weak. The world swims before me in a haze, like a dream.

"I... I don't love him." I say, feebly, stuttering slightly.

His eyes soften more so as he approaches me placing a brotherly hand on my cheek.

"Dear brother, you see but you do not observe." He says, softly. "You've always loved him. It's so painfully obvious that anyone can see it. It shines brighter than the sun."

My eyes pool with newfound tears, his words affecting me as I take in this revelation. He's right. Mycroft's right. How could I have been so stupid? How could I have been so blind from my own heart?

_Because John doesn't love you back._

New tears form in my eyes at the horrible revelation. John doesn't love me. He never has, he never will.

"He doesn't love me. He never has. That was paramount after my fall. He's been married and divorced with Mary. He's never loved me, nor does he now." I choke, speaking the dreadful thought that has clouded my mind.

"No, brother. You’re wrong." He says, almost inaudibly, placing his forehead against mine. "Those two years without you, destroyed him. He drank himself away, lost an alarming amount of weight; he spiralled down into the pits of hell because he was devastated by your loss. You can't honestly believe he doesn't love you?"

"Yes." I say, solemnly, "None of that means he loves me, Myc." I respond, still not believing him. He's eyes flash in surprise by my use of the childhood name I gave him long ago.

"Oh, Sherlock. You're one of the most observant men in the world, but you don't see what's right in front of you." He says with a small smile, lifting his forehead from mine, but keeping his hand on my cheek. "I know you will want proof. He has a second blog, on an anonymous site. He wrote about his love and his loss for you there. He kept writing, even after he married Mary. He kept it up almost the entire time. It was how he coped. He never stopped writing until after you returned. If you don't believe me, look for yourself." He says, sliding a small note into my pocket holding the web address to the site.

I nod, unable to speak as my throat has completely constricted itself making it hard to even breathe.

Mycroft drops his hand from my face and onto my shoulder, giving it a sympathetic squeeze. For once, I appreciate the sentiment. Surprising as I repel from any sort of sentiment from anyone, especially my brother.

"Go to him. He needs you."

"I... I have to get his medicine. His symptoms have already started to emerge." I say, weakly, pinching the bridge of my nose.

Panic flashes across Mycroft's eyes when Sherlock utters about John's symptoms but he quickly rearranges his features as to not alarm his already broken little brother.

"I already have them. Athena popped by and got them for you whilst we were talking. They're in the car. I figured you would want them around before his symptoms started I emerge, but it seems that it has already happened." **(AN: I don't remember Mycroft's assistance name. I got as close as I could, someone correct me if I'm wrong.)**

"Thank you." I say, sincerely. I truly am. My brother and I have had a strained relationship as long as I can remember. However, this rare and unique brotherly compassion is comforting, soothing and I don't care that it goes against everything I've built to conceal myself from my own emotions and if others.

Mycroft steps besides me and places his hand on my upper back, guiding me to his sleek, black car.

I step in, feeling its warmth and realising how truly cold I am. I begin to shiver and wrap my coat tighter around me, placing the pharmacy bag on my lap.

Mycroft sits across from me staring out the window deep in thought. Neither of us caring to talk anymore. Nothing more needs to be said.

We reach Baker St shortly and I let myself out, closing the door. As I turn to leave Mycroft rolls down the window causing me to stop and look back at him.

We stare at each other silently. Mycroft having an obvious internal debate with himself about something probably about what we had just discussed minutes prior.

"I need to get these to John." I say, shivering after a couple minutes of silence. He nods staring at me intently not breaking eye contact as he speaks.

"You need to let John know how you feel, Sherlock." He finally says. I gape at him hardly believing what he's telling me to do. I can't tell John how I feel. What if he rejects me and we finish his last year together shrouded in awkward filled tension?

Mycroft rolls his eyes, seeing the panic rage on inside my mind. "Look at the website, Sherlock. Everything you need to know will be there. I promise."

I give him a tight nod and turn on my heel to heed into Baker St. Just as I step through the door, Mycroft's voice drifts to me.

"Your goldfish is dying and doesn't have a lot of time. Please don't waste any of it."

I don't respond as I shut the door behind me, leaning heavily against it. I feel weak, cold, and tired.

I hear John's soft footsteps up above and our flat door open. I glance up to see John standing at the top of the stairs looking at me confused.

"I thought I told you not to move." I finally say.

"I heard the door." He says as if that's reason to get up when I asked him not to. "You okay, Sherlock?"

"Yeah... I'm fine... Just... It's just cold out there." I respond lamely.

"Right. Yeah. It's supposed to start snowing. Best get you up inside and in front of the fire; your face is all red."

I pale. I don't want John to know I'd been crying.

"Oh, yeah. It's bitter cold out." I say, hoping he'll take the bait that my face is red from the cold.

"Definitely so." He says, taking the bait much to my relief.

I peel myself off the door and walk slowly up the stairs. John's face is pale and he looks tired. I place my hand on his lower back and lead him into the flat. A low fire already roaring, casting everything in a warm glow.

"Sit." I order him once again. "I'll make some tea so you can take your medicine."

"I forgot that's what you went out for." He says with feeble amusement.

My face drops noticeably at the news of this, but I rearrange it quickly when John looks up when I remain silent.

We stare at each other for a bit, not saying anything. The conversation with Mycroft floods back to me and an overwhelming urge to tell him that I love him consumes me. I open my mouth to say the three words I thought I'd ever say to anyone, especially John. But I stop myself, fear of rejection and humiliation overcrowding my desire to tell him. I snap my mouth shut with an audible snap and turn to hang my coat and scarf near the door next to John's.

As I turn away, I hear a loud gasp causing me to turn back around. My heart stops as worry that something else is happening to him consumes my thoughts.

As I face him, I see that he's fine, but he's staring at my forgotten mangled hand with disbelief and shock.

"What happened?" He asks quietly, rushing over to me. He lifts my hand tenderly inspecting the extensiveness of my wound.

My head scrambles for a believable excuse, but coming up empty.

"I... uhh... slammed it in the pharmacy door..." I say feebly grasping the first thing that pops into my mind.

John looks up at me, squinting his eyes trying to decide whether to believe me. He looks like he's about to say something about it not looking like a door slam injury, but stops as his face drops sadly and his gaze flicks down to my bloody hand.

"It's definitely broken." He finally says. "We should take you to the hospital to get it fixed."

"No!" I shout, causing him to jump and drop my hand. It hits my side causing pain to shoot up my arm. The last bit of adrenaline I had whilst beating the wall now gone as my hand starts to throb painfully.

"Alright. Alright. No hospital." John says looking at me with concern. "Come over near the fireplace, so I can get a better look at it."

I nod and let John lead me still holding my hand.

His touch makes my heart swim and my stomach flutter. The beat of my heart so loud I'm pretty sure John can hear it. I try to calm myself, not wanting to alert John to my newfound feelings for him.

"Sit." He says, pointing to a spot on the floor in front of the fireplace. Seems a bit childish to me to sit on the floor, but I oblige giving him a smirk which he rolls his eye at in response to. "I'm going to go get my medical bag. We need to take care of your hand as soon as possible before permanent injury sets in."

I nod, watching him depart. My eyes trailing after him. I notice that he's walking slightly different. He moves slower, shuffling a bit more than usual. Most people wouldn't see the difference; it's so minute. But I can. I can see the smallest change in John that John himself won't see. This ability to observe and deduce is my greatest achievement.

But as I see every small change that John has gone through already and will go through, I only think of it as a curse. A curse I wish I could rid myself of. I want to shut it off, never to let it flick back on again. I don't want to see everything that John will go through that others will miss. I don't think I can live through it. It's going to destroy me in the end.

A single tear drips down my face as I stare into the fire, consumed with a single thought.

I wish I was ordinary

To be continued...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Sooo how did you like it?! I know Mycroft and Sherlock's relationship in this chapter is a bit far fetched, but I really wanted to bond them as brothers and it hurt me in the feels writing this chapter. Like seriously, misty eyed in all. Hope you liked it!
> 
>  
> 
> Xoxo,  
> Molly


	4. Fed Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!
> 
> Another chapter! This one’s a bit different short! The next chapter shpould be out later today! Woohoo!!
> 
> I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Xoxo,  
> Molly

**John**

_I could shoot him. I could bloody shoot Sherlock for messing up his hand like that. What was he thinking! What did he even do to it since it's obvious that he was lying to me about slamming it in the door. Does he think I'm stupid enough to believe that! Hah! He's got to be bloody daft to think I would!_

I rummage through my room looking for my medical bag and coming up empty.

_Where in the bloody hell is my medical bag. I normally stick it right here near my desk, don't I? But it's not there. What the hell! Where did it go! I bet Sherlock moved it again. That bastard._

I exit my room and shuffle down the stairs. Sherlock is still sitting next to the fireplace, staring at the flames licking and crackling against the air.

"Sherlock, did you move my medical bag?" I ask and he turns towards me, his brows furrowed in confusion.

"No. It's underneath the bathroom sink where it always is. Is it not there anymore?" He says, tentatively.

_Oh, underneath the sink. How could I have forgotten?_

"No, I haven't checked there yet. Be back in a tic." I say, turning in my heel and heading to the bathroom.

I open the cabinet doors and low and behold my medical bag sits. I pull out the massive bag and leave the bathroom. I walk over to Sherlock and place the bag on the side of us as I sit cross legged in front of Sherlock.

I take his broken hand gently within mine and begin to examine it, mentally taking notes on what I see.

_All four fingers broken. Wrist is compacted due to blunt force trauma. Small scratches cover his fingers accompanied by a few deep gashes hence all the blood. Thumb remains unbroken, minus a few shallow scratches on the surface. Purple, black bruises along the fingers, hand, and wrist as well as some significant swelling. Possible tendon damage that may cause problems in the future. Trauma caused by repeatedly beating something hard with an immense amount of force._

_What the hell did he do to himself?_

"The damage is extensive. It may cause permanent damage if it's not taken care of properly. We should really get you to---"

"I know you'll take care of it properly, John. I trust my doctor." He says, cutting me off and giving me that adorable half smile.

"Alright then." I say quietly, trying not to swoon like a girl.

I open my bag and begin to take out the needed supplies. I grab the alcohol first to clean off the blood and sterilise the cuts. It'll also help me see if any of the deep gashes need to be stitched.

I drench a cotton pad in alcohol and glance up to see Sherlock looking at me warily like I'm the plague or something.

"Christ, Sherlock. It's just alcohol." I laugh. "I've got to get it disinfected."

He pulls his lips down into a pout. "But it hurts, John." He whines. I chuckle at my pouty childish detective and shake my head.

"I know it does. That's because it's dirty and infected. You wouldn't want it to get all yucky now, would you?" I say slowly like I'm speaking to a child.

Sherlock makes a little 'humph' noise, proving my point that he is indeed a child. It makes me smile.

I bring the cloth to Sherlock's hand and press down softly. He jolts a bit in pain, but keeps his hand still. I begin to dab away at his hand carefully, trying not to hurt it. The dabbing has only taken me so far and I start to wipe at the deeper cuts. Sherlock cringes and twerks at the burning, stinging sensation. After a couple of painfully long minutes of Sherlock cursing under his breathe and me warning him to stop wriggling around we get all his wounds clean.

Some of the gashes are deep, but they've stopped bleeding for the most part.

"I don't think you'll be needing stitches." I say, probing one of the cuts with my gloved finger. I see a bit of something beneath the surface and pull out my tweezers to get at it.

I grasp onto its white corner and pull out a small piece of something. I bring it closer to my face examining it.

_Is that plaster?_

I glance up at Sherlock, who is purposely avoiding my eyes.

"Most have come from the door." He says, indifferent with a shrug, still not looking at me.

"Sherlock." I warn him.

_I swear to god he better not bloody lie to me again. I will fucking go off. I fucking will._

"What?" He says with forced confusion, finally looking at me with wide innocent eyes.

I feel my anger boil further within me. I take a hard, deep breathe whilst pinching the bridge of my nose. I clench and unclench my jaw and exhale loudly dropping my hand from my face, burning my blue eyes into his.

"Don't bloody lie to me, Sherlock." I finally say through gritted teeth.

Sherlock's face morphs, becoming completely unreadable and passive.

_It's the face I hate with a burning passion. It's the face he gives everyone he deems beneath him. So what am I then? Someone he deems below himself now. I'm his bloody best friend, for Christ sake! Why does he treat me this way!_

"I'm not---" He responds, coldly. His face hard and cold, but I cut him off. The anger I tried holding inside exploding.

"No! Fuck you, Sherlock! Fuck you!" I shout at him, standing up. "All I bloody asked you to do is _not_ lie to me! That's all I fucking asked! And you know what you do?! LIE! TO! ME! I deserve bloody better than that, Sherlock! I fucking deserve better! But noooo! Not to Sherlock Fucking Holmes! To you I don't mean shit! To you, you lie to my face when I do absolutely fucking everything for you!" I continue, kicking my medical bag across the room causing the contents to fly everywhere and break glass somewhere in the flat, but I don't care.

"Jo---" He tries to interject quietly, but I'm not having it.

"No! Shut the fuck up! I don't want to hear another fucking word you say! Fix your own god damn hand! I'm done with you, you fucking useless piece of shit machine!" With that I storm out of the flat, kicking the chair that was in my way down. I stomp down the stairs and slam the door so hard the windows rattle.

To be continued...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DONE! Phew! Sorry for the lag in updating. I have Chapter 5 almost complete, becuase I was going to combine the chapters, but then I changed my mind. I should have the next chapter out later today! Let me know what you think so far! I also know how I am going to end this fic! So excited!!
> 
>  
> 
> Xoxo,  
> Molly


	5. At Last

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my beautifl readers!
> 
> Here is another chapter! Two in one day you lucky people! This one is nice and long to make up for the shorter chapter before this! I hope you enjoy!
> 
>  
> 
> Xoxo,  
> Molly

**Sherlock**

I sit stunned in front of the fire. The remnants of John's anger surrounding me.

_This is all my fault. I should go after him, I want to go after him, but I don't think John wants me to go after him. I don't want what just happened to repeat again. I don't think I can handle it. I might break._

I glance around the room then hang my head and sigh. John's angry outburst destroyed the flat pretty bad.

His medical supplies went everywhere; one even broke his mum's vase. It was the only thing he had left of her and now it's broken.

A small tear falls down my face and onto my mangled hand. I wipe it away, not wanting to start blubbering again and straighten my spine, finally standing up.

I begin to clean the flat. I put all of John's medical supplies back in his bag in the same order he always puts them in. I pick up the pieces of the vase, placing them back on the table; the pieces are large, repairable.

I grab my mobile and dial the number to a vase shop down the street. I know a guy there that can repair delicate vases. He owes me a favour for getting him out of a life sentence from a murder he didn't commit.

"Hello, Angelo. It's Sherlock." I say with suppressed agitation, as it took him three bloody long rings to answer.

"Sherlock!! How are you my good friend!!?" He says enthusiastically through his thick Italian accent.

"Bit not good. I need a favour. My flatmates vase broke whilst he was out and I need it fixed before he comes home. Will you be able to do that?" I say, quickly and getting straight to the point.

"Sure! No problem!" He responds, happily. "When will he be coming home?"

I calculate the time John usually takes to come home after we had a row.

"Three hours." I finally say. The other side of the line remains silent.

"That's rushing it a bit, Sherlock. Perhaps--"

"No, I can't replace it. It's my fault it's broken. I know you can do it, Angelo." I say with an eye roll. I hate stroking people's ego.

"Well. Alright. I'll send my boy down to pick it up. I'll have it done in no time!"

"Thank you, Angelo. How much?" I respond, relieved.

"No cost! It's on the house for my good friend!"

"Thank you again, Angelo." I say and hang up.

I just finish fixing up the flat when I hear a knock at the door.

I grab the box I put the broken vase in and carry it awkwardly down the stairs since I am only able to use one hand. I hand the box to Angelo's boy with a warning in regards to his klepto tendencies. He scampers off as I smirk. He definitely won't be stealing this expensive vase or any others to come to sell for drug money.

I climb the flat and grab John's medical bag. I take out all the supplies that John had taken out earlier and begin to wrap my hand. Or at least I attempt to.

It takes me an hour and a half to wrap my hand and it still looks like a blind person did it. I don't understand how John does it so easily. I give up on trying to make it look halfway decent and put away the rest of the supplies and place the bag underneath the sink again.

I sit in my chair and place my hands in the prayer position under my chin. I jump in pain when my bad hand resists being put in that position. I sigh agitatedly and reposition myself so I can enter into my mind palace. Ten minutes and twenty different positions later, I finally find a position comfortable enough. It's lying on my back, on the floor with my feet on the couch. I probably look ridiculous, but I don't care.

I close my eyes and step into my mind palace.

_Some unknown time later._

"Sherlock? Sherlock!" Mrs Hudson high pitched voice squeals, dragging me out of my mind palace.

"What?!" I ask agitatedly.

_I hate being jolted from my mind palace like that. It's... disorientating._

"I found this in front of the door as I was leaving to go to dinner with Mrs White next door."

"What!" I bellow, trying to find a clock but coming up empty.

_How long have I been in my mind palace?! It only felt like a couple minutes! It was only ten this morning when I stepped in!_

"What time is it?! Where's John?!" I shout, causing Mrs Hudson to jump at my sudden outburst.

"It's six in the evening and I don't know. Probably up in his room as his coat is still hanging up near the door." She responds, eyeing me with concern. "Is everything alright, Sherlock?"

"Fuck!" I shout and jump up, ignoring her question and bound up to John's room.

I tear the door open and find his room completely empty. It hasn't been touched since he woke up this morning.

_Shit!_

I tear down the stairs and observe the flat for any signs of John being here.

_He hasn't been home. He hasn't been home since he left this morning. That's was... eight hours ago!!_

I run my hand through my raven curls in panic.

_I need to find John. I need to find John. Where would he go? What if something happened to him? What if someone took him? No, Sherlock! Stop that! Stop thinking that way!!_

I bound over to the door and grab my coat and scarf, putting them both on hastily and practically glide down the stairs and out the door, ignoring Mrs Hudson's shouts of concerns.

I skid onto the pavement and circle around in place trying to deduce where John would go. I enter my mind palace quickly.

_Left:_   
_Shops_   
_Cafés_   
_Hospital_   
_Offices_   
_Take out_

_No! No! No!_

_Right:_   
_Scotland Yard_   
_More cafes_   
_Pharmacy_   
_Park_

_Park! Park! Park! He's at the park!_

My eye snap open and I turn right, running to the park not too far from Baker St. I don't bother with a cab, I just keep running and running as fast as my long legs will take me. I almost knock over an elderly couple in the process, which I was rewarded with by a few disgusted glares by onlookers when I didn't stop.

I reach the park in six minutes and twenty-two seconds, scanning the park as I enter.

I see parents with children bundled up tight against the cold London air playing, elderly couples taking a stroll, young lovers sitting underneath a tree, but no John.

I start to hyperventilate in panic and begin to pull out my mobile to call Lestrade, Mycroft, the British Army, and whoever else I can recruit to start a massive search and rescue for John. I begin dialing Mycroft's number when I see a familiar tossle of blonde hair on the other side of a park sitting on a bench.

I sigh in relief and run over to where John sits alone. I slow my steps as I get closer.

John sits with his head hung low and his arms wrapped tightly around himself. He shivers violently as he didn't grab his coat when he stormed out earlier today. His hair is tousled making him look like an adorable little hedgehog.

I quietly take of my coat and scarf and step closer to John who still hasn't noticed my presence.

I drape my coat over his shoulders causing him to jump. He takes one look at me and leaps off the bench, flinging himself into my arms with a heart wrenching sob.

I stroke his hair softly and wrap my arms tightly around my blogger as his warm tears seep into my shirt.

John cries into my arms for seemingly forever, but I don't mind. I'm just glad he's okay.

After a while, John lifts his head from my chest and peers up into my eyes. His face is puffy and red. The whites of his eyes bloodshot, making his blue eyes appear bluer. His lip quivers sadly as he takes a hard gulp.

"I'm s-so sorry, Sh-Sherlock." John stutters, his eyes pooling with more tears.

"No, don't be. It's my fault. I shouldn't have lied to you. I'm sorry." I respond, sadly.

"I shouldn't have gone off on you like that. It's just... it's just... hard"

"I know. I know." I respond softly, bringing his head back to my chest whilst I unconsciously sway softly from side to side.

"I'm dying, Sherlock." John says, brokenly after a couple of minutes. The reality of what's happening to him finally hitting home. I feel my throat constricts painfully on itself and I feel tears sting my eyes, blurring my vision.

"I know." I respond just as brokenly.

I begin to sob softly, my tear falling freely down my face. John tightens his hold on me, not saying anything whilst rubbing soft patterns along my back.

My sobs quiet after a couple of minutes and I lift my head that was leaning against John's and place my forehead against his staring into my dying blogger's eyes.

"Let's get you home before we both get sick, yeah?" I say after a moment of silence, noticing John's lips are slightly blue and he's still shivering. I'm cold as well, but I rather have John warm over myself.

"Yeah. Let's go." He smiles.

We reluctantly break away from each other and I wrap my arms around myself trying to shield myself from the harsh, cold wind.

"Hold on." John says, stepping closer to me. He rearranges my coat he's wearing and drapes it over myself as well. We mould against each other tightly; the coat easily covering us in its warmth.

"Ta." I say softly, inhaling John's scent on my coat.

We walk in silence back to Baker St with our arms wrapped around each other's waist. We reach the familiar black door with its brass letters after not too long. We step inside the flat where the warm air engulfs us and trudge up the stairs together and enter our flat. I reluctantly let go of John's waist and slip out of the coat. I instantly miss John's warmth and presence. I turn to help John out and hang the coat.

"Tea?" I ask as John looks at me funny. It's like he's seeing me for the first time. I ponder at the expression, but brush it off to him being surprised that I am the one making the tea for once.

"Yes, please." He finally responds and I turn and begin to walk away. "Sherlock, wait!" John almost shouts all of a sudden. I'm halfway into the kitchen by now and I turn to face my blogger in confusion.

John rushes towards me with a look of sheer determination and... hope?

He stops right in front of me; no more than a couple millimetres away. My breathing speeds up and my palms begin to sweat. My heart is pounding so hard it feels like it's cutting off the blood to my head, making everything tingle.

"One more thing." He whispers and closes his eyes, leaning in. I freeze before I begin to lean in as well...

"Yoo-hoo, boys!" Mrs Hudson says as she knock softy on the door. John and I spring apart and turn away from each other, blushing. "I see you've found John, Sherlock. You gave him quite a fright, you know that. Quite a fright." She says turning to John. "Anywho I hope I didn't disturb anything." She continues giving us a knowing smirk as I try my best not to snark off to her. "I forgot my mobile on the table and I heard you boys up here and thought I'd pop by to see how John is after being outside in that nasty cold with no jacket no less! You'll be lucky if you don't catch a cold!" She reprimands him. I try my best not to stomp around the flat in exasperation of her endless babble.

"I'm fine, Mrs Hudson. I promise." John says, sounding equally exasperated.

"You better be! I'm not going to be cleaning your flat if you get sick! I'm not your housekeeper." She says, completely oblivious to the awkward tension blooming in between John and me.

"Yes, we are aware." John says hanging his head in defeat as I sigh accidentally out loud in exasperation.

"Oops, sorry! Didn't mean to disturb anything! I'll just leave you boys to it!" She says finally understanding that she came at a bad time.

When she finally leaves, I glance up at John and see him fiddling awkwardly with a loose piece of string on his shirt. The confidence he once had just minutes prior gone.

I sigh quietly and turn to the kitchen to make our tea. I start the process in silence, lost in the chaos that begun when John started to lean in to kiss me.

_Was he going to kiss me? How do I know for sure? Of course all the signs were there. Dilated pupils, elevated pulse, breathing pattern change. But what if I'm wrong? I couldn't live with the rejection and humiliation if I misconstrued his true intent._

_But what if it was? What if John was going to kiss me? What if that was our only chance. Our one and only chance to put everything out on the table. He doesn't have much time anymore._

Reality surges back to me as I remember the paper with the web address to John's anonymous blog that Mycroft gave me earlier today. I pull it out of my packet along with my mobile and tap the address in.

The page loads bringing me to a colourful website with seemingly hundreds of thousands of other anonymous writers registered. The page is defaulted to John's and I click on the first entry dated one month her after my 'fall'.

**(AN: I don't remember when Sherlock's fall took place. So I'm just pulling random dates out. Feel free to correct me!)**

_13th of March, 2012_

_I don't know what I'm doing here. But I feel like I have nowhere else to go. I need to get everything out before I explode and my therapist thinks the best way to move on is to write about him. My best friend. He's dead._

_He committed suicide because he couldn't deal with the lies he had created being exposed. But you see, I didn't think they were lies, I still don't. I still believe in everything he said, did, and stood for; even when the man himself told me not to. I just can't do that. I will always believe in him no matter what._

_I visited his grave today. I haven't been there since the day of his funeral exactly two months ago today. I didn't say anything; I just sat there staring at the stone. What's wrong with me? I should just talk, but it seems a bit foolish. I don't know._

_I've decided to visit his grave every Friday from now on. More if need be, but it's a ritual I want to keep. He deserves it._

_-MF_

_MF? Clearly an alias. Curious on what it would be? Max Freely? Mathew Frost? Martin Freeman? Michael Fringe? It could be anything really._

_28th of June 2012_

_It's been a while, but then again I haven't had much to say._

_I've been visiting his grave every Friday, since the day I made the commitment I would. I started talking to him a couple weeks back; it took me a while to start to. I decided to tell him everything I wanted to say when he was still alive and that I miss him, of course. I miss his witty banter and crazed experiments. I miss just him; his voice, his presence, his comfort, everything._

_Everyone thinks he's the most self centred, rude, all-round obnoxious arsehole they've every had the misfortune to meet. But to me, he is the most beautiful, brilliant, genuine, caring person I have ever met and I love him. I love him with everything inside of me. I always have and always will, but he never felt the same about me and now it's too late. I will forever regret never building up the courage to tell him how I feel. He's gone now, but at least I can go to his grave every Friday and talk to him about everything I wanted to say, but didn't. It's the only thing I have now._

_-MF_

I scroll past the many other entries he's created whilst my body thrums intensely at the words I'm reading. I go to the last blog entry, created two weeks after I returned to him. I click it and wait nervously for it to load.

_14rd of January, 2014_

_He's alive. He's bloody alive. I can't believe it. I don't even know how he did it. He faked his death. He said it was to protect me, but Christ really? He could've told me! I'm his bloody best friend! Or at least I was until all this happened. I don't know if I still am anymore..._

_He's been staying with his brother sorting out the details of his return. Once he's done, he shall be moving back in and we will be flatmates once again. I don't know how I feel about that yet._

_Don't get me wrong, I still love him so very much even through my marriage and divorce that happened all in the span that he's been 'dead'. The feelings I have for him has never flickered out in the long two years he was away. I just don't know if I have the courage to tell him. It was easy telling him at his, now fake grave, but in person I don't know if I'll be able to. I feel queasy just thinking about it. Perhaps in time. We do have the rest of our lives ahead of us. I have plenty of time to tell him._

_Well I'm going to get off now. All this typing has given me a headache lately. The next couple of weeks shall be interesting, hopefully good interesting._

_-MF_

I remain stunned, leaning against the counter. A part of me still remains sceptical. This blog could be anyone's, but why would Mycroft provide me a fake blog and possible destroy everything for the last year that John has. We may not get along, but Mycroft would never do that. I want to make sure though.

I do a bit of hacking of John's supposed page on my mobile, breaking past all the security barriers, until I get to the raw code that is weaved into the website. It'll show me the coordinates to the person who wrote this.

I scroll past all the codes I don't need till I land on what I'm looking for; the coordinates.

51°31'25"N -0°9'30"E

It's our coordinates. The coordinates that would direct you right to Baker St. It's John. It's his blog. Written here in this flat.

_He loves me. I can't believe it. Out of all the people John could have fallen in love with. He fell in love with me. How could anyone love me?_

The kettle starts hissing loudly bringing me back to earth. I set it on the counter and leave the kitchen in a hurried flourish.

John is sitting in his chair looking at the dying flame in the fireplace, completely engrossed in his thoughts; he looks sad. Upon my approach John looks up at me confused.

"Did you forget how to make tea?" He jokes feebly.

"No."I whisper deeply, crouching in front of John. My heart pounds in my chest making me feel weak and strong at the same time. I swallow the last bit of my fear of rejection and look into my blogger's beautiful, blue eyes. "I forgot you."

I lean in and press my lips to John's. He freezes, not responding to what I'm doing. I panic as my heart sinks down to the floor.

_This was a mistake._

I pull away, looking down unable to meet John's eyes.

"I'm sor---" I begin to say, but my words are cut off by John grabbing the back of my head, pulling my face to his. Our lips crash together and my world explodes into a beautiful array of colour.

Our lips move against each other in beautiful, sweet bliss. It's gentle, sweet, and unobtrusive as we use only our lips, but urgent and desperate all the same. Every feeling we have felt for each other after all this time pouring out in this one, single, beautiful act. All our love, sorrow, and pain being conveyed to each other through our kiss. John's diagnosis has been briefly forgotten as we go on, not breaking our lips apart.

John has slowly slide off his chair and onto his knees in front of me, pressing our bodies against each other. My good hand cradles his cheek as the other wraps around his waist, never wanting to let go. John has his hands wrapped tightly on my lower waist, his fingers digging in slightly.

We finally break apart after a couple of minutes of intense, love filled kissing. We rest our foreheads against each other, looking deeply into each other's eyes.

"I thought this would never happen." John whispers.

"Me, too. I'm glad it did." I whisper back. John presses a soft, delicate kiss to my lips causing my stomach to flutter and fill with warmth.

"I'm going to need to heat up the kettle again. The water will be disgustingly cold by now. Bit not good for tea."

"Yeah. A bit not good." John smiles at me whilst both of us remain where we are, not wanting to move even though we know we should. "Alright. Let's get up now."John says after a couple more minutes pass.

"But Jawn! I don't want to!" I whine causing John to laugh.

"Yes, but we need to. Up you go." He says standing and giving me his hand to pull me up. "It also got terribly uncomfortable on the floor."

"True."I say, still pouting slightly over having to move.

John pulls me into his arms, wrapping me into a tight hug and burrowing his head in the crook of my neck. I wrap my arms around his neck and lay my head on top of his, inhaling his scent. It smells musky and woodsy. A little bit damp from the rain with a hint of his shampoo and a smell I can only describe as _John_.

"Time for tea?" I ask.

"Yes, please." John says as he pulls away. "I'm going to take a shower to warm up a bit and get out of these clothes.

"Of course." I smile at him. "Shout if you need anything."

John's eyebrow shoots up disappearing into his hairline as a small smirk spreads across his face.

"Oh! No! I-I didn't mean that. Oh, god! Of course we wouldn't do that! Unless you wanted to of course! I-I didn't mean to say that! Oh god, I'm just going to shut up now." I splutter, feeling my face flush red as I place my hands over my face in sheer humiliation.

_Damn mouth diarrehea._

"Sherlock, love?" John says, his voice smiling in amusement. My heart skipped a beat when he called me _love_. "It's okay, I know what you meant. Don't fret, even though it was quite adorable. Like a babbling otter."

"A babbling otter?" I gawk, dropping my hands from my still red face. "I am not an otter!" I say, incredulously.

"Yeah, you are."

"Am not."

"Are to."

"If I'm an otter, then you're a hedgehog." I say, smirking as his face changes to amused disbelief. "Look at all that spiky hair!" I say running my fingers across it spiking it up even more.

"Stop that! It's only doing that because it's wet and you keep messing with it!" He says, trying to straighten his hair down and failing.

"Yes, you are my cute little hedgy!" I say podging him on the cheek.

John gives an indignant huff and crosses his arms. I wrap my arms around him and give him a soft squeeze, chuckling softly.

"Go hop in the shower, love. Your tea will be ready when you get out."

"Ta." He says, giving me a soft kiss on the lips. I'll never get tired of kissing him.

I walk into the kitchen and start making our tea again. I make John's just the way he likes it and bring our two steaming cuppas to the living room, setting John's next to his chair as I take mine to my chair and begin drinking it slowly.

Time passes and I finish my tea whilst John is still in the shower. I try to force down the worry that has begun to bubble inside of me. He normally doesn't take this long. He was out in the cold for quite some time. He's just trying to get warm.

A couple more minutes pass and I am unable to push past the worry and decide to check on him. I reach the loo and knock on it hesitantly. Nothing. Maybe he didn't hear me. I knock harder. Nothing. I begin to hyperventilate in panic.

"John?" I half shout, knocking. Nothing. "JOHN!!"Nothing.

_Oh god. What if something happened to him? Oh god. Oh god._

Without a second thought, I ram the door open, breaking the lock off the hinge in the process. I tear open the curtain to see John lying unconscious as the now lukewarm water falls on him. I jump into the shower, crouching down in front of him ruining my suit.

"John! John!" I shout, panicking as tears stream down my face as I shake him trying to get him to open his eyes. "John! Wake up!"

John's eyes flutter open weakly and I cry out in relief.

"What happened?" He mumbles, looking around in confusion.

"You blacked out." I say, still crying.

"Oh." He says, surprised.

I turn off the tap and grab a towel off the rack draping it around his waist to give him a bit of decency. I pull John up, further wrapping the towel around his waist. He wobbles a bit, still feeling disorientated as we step out. I grab the other towel and begin drying him off as John slowly gains his balance.

"You need to take your medicine. It'll help with all of... this." I say sadly, after I have dried him off.

"I know." He says quietly, looking up at me with tear filled eyes. "Why is this happening? Why now?"

"I don't know, love. I don't know." I respond, letting my silent tears drift down my face as I hold my blogger close.

We remain wrapped around each other tightly, neither of us willing to let go nor wanting to.

My tears continue to fall as I'm unable to stop them from coming. My body shakes softly against John's as I kiss the top of his head over and over again.

My world feels like it's being ripped apart into a thousand pieces. My blogger is dying. He's going to leave me so soon after I have returned. The precious love we share only to be cherished for a limited time. We finally brought up the courage to show each other how we feel and it will soon be gone. The only person I love and will ever love will be ripped from my grasps. My heart crumbles into a million pieces as I feel myself dying all over again.

John. My John. My blogger. The man I love dearly. The one person that made me a better person. The most beautiful man in the world. He's mine. He will always be mine. Even after he's gone. I'll make this time of his worth living. Even if it destroys me, because he deserves it. He deserves the world and beyond and that's what I'm going to give him. Because I love him.

"I love you." I whisper against his head.

"I love you, too." John responds without missing a beat, making my heart swells as I sob harder, kissing his forehead.

To be continued...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! Yay! They kissed!!!! Woohoo!!! *initiate happy dance* I hope you have liked it thus far and I'm not killing too many of you right now!! I don't know when the next chapter will be out, becuase I don't know what to write! Any ideas on where to go will be greatly appreciated!
> 
>  
> 
> Xoxo,  
> Molly


	6. A Case

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my beautiful, amazing readers!
> 
> Here is a long overdue chapter for you all.  
> Now to updates. I will try to update as often as possible for you all but it is difficult as I am usually terrible busy. So I cannot commit to a consistent schedule for updates. However, since I have taken a hiatus on all my other fics except this one. I should be updating more often. I hope you enjoy this chapter and if you have any ideas on what you'd like to see incorporated into this fic. I'll be more than happy to do so!  
> Lastly, everything I wirte in regards to John's illness is completely made up. I do a bit of research, but most of it is of complete fiction and may not be entirely correct. That is all :)
> 
>  
> 
> Xoxo,  
> Molly

**John**

"John!" Sherlock shouts from the living room as I rummage through the kitchen looking for something to eat for breakfast. "John!"

"Yes?" I shout back as I peer around the corner to look at Sherlock.

"Have you taken your medicine yet?" He asks with a concerned look on his face.

I sigh with a smile and approach him where he sits in his chair with his laptop, plucking away at the keys.

"Not yet." I say bending down and kissing the top of his head. It makes me feel warm inside when Sherlock tries to care for me. As I kiss him, he stops what he's doing and looks up at me giving me his full attention. "It's best to take them after I've eaten. You remember what happened last time?"

Sherlock's eyes widen and he shudders as he remembers the horrible side effect of taking one of my pills without food. Basically, it had to do with me praying to the God of Toilets for an entire day. I've never thrown up so much in my life.

"Yeah. It was a bit not good and I'd rather not have a repeat of that." I continue.

"Neither do I." He says taking my hand within his and kissing it softly. "I hate seeing you sick." He continues looking at me sadly.

"Thank you for taking care of me." I smile.

"Always." He smiles back.

We continue smiling at each other like a couple of love struck teenagers for a while longer before my stomach breaks the silence by demonstrating a whale mating song. Sherlock's eyebrow shoots up and disappears into his hair as he smirks at me.

"Well. I think that's my queue to continue making breakfast." I chuckle. "What would you like to eat?"

"I'm not hungry."

I suppress a sigh. "Sherlock, you haven't eaten in three days."

"See it's only been three days. I'm good for a while longer and you know eating slows me down."

"Please, Sherlock." I say, almost begging. "For me?" I hate when he goes so long without eating. It worries me to no end. I always feel better after I know he's got a little food in his belly.

Sherlock remains silent for a couple of moments before sighing.

"Fine. I'll eat some eggs and a bit of toast."

"That's my boy." I say giving him a full smile and kissing his forehead. He rolls his eyes at me, but smiles back.

I go back into the kitchen and begin making eggs and toast as Sherlock resumes his work on his laptop.

It's been about two weeks since I started taking my medicine. The first week was a bit rocky as the medicine had to build in my system before it started to take effect. I had more dizzy spells and I blacked out a couple of times during the week it took to build up, but Sherlock was always there. He was always there to catch me when I fell and to wake up to after I've blacked out. He hasn't left my side since the diagnosis. I've never seen this side of him before. It's a beautiful wonderful side of him that make me feel honoured that I am the only one to see it. He's such an amazing, loving man and no one could tell me otherwise.

But on the other hand, I know he's bored. He's been turning down case after case without even knowing what they are. He twitches and fiddles anxiously all day. He tries to occupy his time tending to me, playing the violin, or shouting profanities at the telly and whilst I love the doting version of Sherlock, I miss the old crazed man that I fell in love with and I know Sherlock misses that side of him, too. That's why I've contacted Lestrade for the past couple of days looking for a case. He's come up empty, but I had a text from him when I woke up this morning with a case for us involving the murder of three young women. The murderer left no trace whatsoever. It sounded at least a seven so I had Lestrade send the file over for Sherlock.

I finish making breakfast, adding a bit more eggs on Sherlock's plate and grab the envelope containing the case.

I place the envelope on the table and Sherlock's plate on top of it. Sherlock approaches the table and stops, staring at the plate before lifting it up and taking the envelope. He stares at it, probably deducing its content.

"What's this?" He asks quietly.

"It's an envelope."

"Obviously, John." He says, giving me his 'no shit' look that I try not to roll my eyes at. "What is inside?"

"Why don't you just open it and find out for yourself."

He looks at me piercingly like he's trying to convey words to me with just a look. I drop my slight agitation I had with him and really look at him. He looks scared. His hands are clenching the envelope tightly, making his knuckles white and a fine tremor coats his enter body. He probably thinks that the envelope is about me. My heart plummets at the pain he is probably going through right now.

_Oh, Sherlock._

I reach across the table and wrap my hands around his clenched fist, rubbing my thumb back and forth trying to ease his tension. I can feel him relax slightly, but his expression still remains pained.

"I'm okay, Sherlock." I say squeezing slightly. He sighs out in relief. "It's a case Lestrade dropped by this morning. Triple murder. All young women no older than twenty. The murderer left no trace whatsoever. Lestrade has been going mad for days with this case. He needs your help."

He looks at the envelope before bringing his gaze back to me.

"You got me a case?" He asks quietly.

"Of course." I smile.

"Why?"

"Because you deserve one and everyone is going to start to think something is wrong with one of us if we don't keep up with our usual."

"But something is wrong with one of us. You aren't well... What if something happens?" He responds sadly, his eyes pulling down at the sides.

"I'm okay, Sherlock. Promise. I haven't had any symptoms in almost a week. We can't stay cooped up in the flat forever. We'll let people know of my condition later. No one else needs to know about it right now except us."

"But I want you to come with me though. I don't want to take the case without you. I can't think properly without you close by." He whispers, looking down.

"Of course I'll be there. I'll wear sunglasses outside so the sun won't hurt my eyes. All will be good, love." I respond comforting, giving him a small smile. He smiles back nudging my knee with his.

"Thank you, John." He says whilst standing and walking over to me. He bends down giving me a soft kiss to my forehead. I close my eyes against the kiss, just wanting to feel Sherlock's lips against my skin. He pulls away and places his hand under my chin lifting my head up. I peer up into his beautiful and infinite aquamarine eyes as Sherlock bends down to press his lips against mine. His kisses are soft and inviting, gently cradling mine. I can become lost in his kisses. I can stay here and feel infinitely alive when he kisses me.

Our kiss is brief, but passionate and filled with love. He always leaves me feeling dazed and confused and pleasantly fuzzy. I hum in content as Sherlock sits back in his chair, picking up his fork with a huge grin on his face.

I smile at my detective as I pick my own fork and stab a bit of eggs with it and fork it into my mouth. Sherlock does the same and begins shovelling it down quickly. His excitement about the case evident in his eagerness to quickly eat.

I chuckle. "Slow down, love or you’re going to choke."

"I'm fine." He mumbles around a mouthful of toast and eggs. "I want to get to---" Sherlock stops suddenly and begins to cough violently. I spring out of my chair and start patting him hard on the back. He spats out a chunk of egg that flies across the table.

"Ew." He says scrunching up his nose in disgust.

"Told you so." I say smugly, crossing my arms and giving him a superior smirk.

"Piss off." He snarks at me. I roll my eyes and he winks back causing both of us to smile. "You know, if you didn't purposely give me more eggs, I wouldn't have been in such a hurry to eat them all." He continues, picking up the spat out egg with a napkin and tossing it in the bin.

"Don't blame me for your choking fiasco! You're the one who didn't chew your food properly!"

"Still your fault." He mumbles under his breath, but I hear him.

"Oi!" I say amused and Sherlock just chuckles and starts eating again, but at a much slower pace.

We finish our breakfast in silence and we put our plates in the sink.

Sherlock grabs my medicine from the cabinet and sets it in front of me with a fresh cuppa and departs to his room eager to get ready as I take my meds and wash the dishes.

As I finish the dishes, Sherlock comes out with his hair coiffed perfectly and wearing a pair of tight black trousers and a purple button up shirt that I love so much. I've nicknamed it The Purple Shirt of Sex, because of, well, reasons.

Sherlock catches me ogling him and begins to turn around in place slowly giving me more to look at.

"You like what you see?" He asks, his deep voice becoming deeper as he faces towards me again.

"When do I not. You're bloody gorgeous."

"So are you." He says approaching me and placing a soft kiss to my lips.

I revel in his kiss and zone all my senses to Sherlock. From the way he sneaks his hands under my shirt to feel the bare skin of my still muscular torso to the way he presses his body against mine, making every inch of our bodies touch each other.

I rub my hands up and down Sherlock's back through his sex shirt. I glide my tongue against Sherlock's full lower lip asking for entrance. Sherlock grants me entrance with a small moan coming from the back of his throat. Our tongues dance against each other playfully. It's not invasively chocking each other or messy with slobber. I've never understood why people French kissed that way. It's disgustingly disturbing and a huge turn off. But with Sherlock, he gently caresses my tongue with his and it turns me on completely. But we've never gone farther than just this. Intense snogging.

We break away and lean our foreheads against each other, peering into each other's eyes. Sherlock's hands still linger underneath my shirt.

"I love you, John Watson."

"And I love you. Now." I smile at him. "Solve me a crime, Sherlock Holmes."

"The game is on." He smiles back. "Get dressed, my doctor. We have a crime to solve. Oh, and wear that beige jumper. It's my favourite."

"Yes, sir." I respond flirty and march off to my room smiling.

I pull out the beige jumper Sherlock was referring to and a pair of tight dark blue jeans and get dressed. I grab my newly acquired sunglasses on the dresser and make my way to the loo. I fix my hair with a bit of product and have a quick wash.

I walk out to see Sherlock already in his trademark coat and scarf donning a pair of fashionable and very expensive looking sunglasses on top of his head and holding my coat.

"What's this?" I ask with a small smile, pointing to the glasses.

Sherlock blushes slightly and looks down at his shoes, then back up at me.

"Well. I thought since you have to wear sunglasses now, I would too. Doesn't hurt to protect one’s eyes from the sun." He shrugs, still blushing a little.

"Thank you, love. That's a good idea and they suit you quite nicely." I smile giving him a small kiss on his cheek. He smile back and holds up my coat and I shrug into it, thinking.

I know he doesn't care about protecting his eyes. He's wearing them so I won't have to wear them alone. It's the first change I've had to make in order to shield myself from pain and I didn't like it. I know millions of people wear sunglasses around the world, but to me it felt like I was giving into my diagnosis, instead of fighting against it. But Sherlock reminded me that it's easier to fight when you're not weakened from pain and I knew he was right.

But the amount of consideration he had taken in the simple act of wearing sunglasses has let me realise, not for the first time, that Sherlock is one of the most compassionate and loving person I have ever met. Even though he seems hard and callous on the outside and he is that way to most people. He is the only person I have ever seen exhibit unconditional love and I feel honoured that I am the one he shows that unconditional love to. I want to show the world the love that Sherlock and I have for each other, but we haven't told anyone about us yet. Not even Mrs Hudson.

"Are you alright, John?" Sherlock asks warily.

"Huh. Oh, yeah. I'm fine. Just thinking."

He pauses. "What about?"

"Us together and if we should tell people about us."

"Oh." He says, seeming genuinely surprised. "I don't mind telling people. Honestly, I'm pretty sure we would just be confirming their suspicions."

"You're probably right." I chuckle.

"Let's tell our close friends first. Then after that we can start doing couple stuff."

"Couple stuff?"

"Yeah, like dates and stuff." He responds with a shrug looking a tad embarrassed.

"I'd like that." I smile and he smiles back. "Now let's go solve a crime."

"Way ahead of you." He says grabbing my hand and leading me out of the flat still talking quickly. "I phoned Lestrade whilst you were getting ready and he gave me some more details on the case. We already know that it involves the murder of three young women between the ages of 18-20. All have short blonde hair and blue eyes. Average height and severely underweight. All have been admitted to a clinic for anorexia within the past three months." We reach the front door and he stops talking to bend down and get me a small kiss on the lips. He pulls away and smiles, then brings my hand up to his lips, kissing it as well. He drops my hand and puts my sunglasses on for me, making me smile. He flips down his own and they make him look sexy as hell and steps outside, holding the door open for me as he continues talking.

"They all went to different clinics and lived in different cities. There is no connection to them other than their appearance and eating disorder. Molly hasn't been able to find any physical harm that could have contributed to their death other than the self-harm they've dealt to themselves, but none of its extensive enough to kill them."

"That's horrible." I respond, sadly as Sherlock raises his hand to hail a cab. "Those girls all have such deep seeded problems. Could it possibly be suicide?"

"It's possible, but I don't think it is. Molly would have been able to find something by now in the autopsy that would indicate that. Lestrade also believes it to be a triple homicide and I think his hunch is correct. The difficult part is that if it is indeed a triple homicide, the murderer has left no traces on any of the bodies and therefore difficult to catch." He continues following close behind me as we step into the cab.

"Bart's Hospital." He tells the cabbie and we take off into traffic as he places his hands in the prayer positions against his lips.

"You'll solve it, Sherlock. You always do."

His mouth quirks up slightly at the side and he drops one of his hands discreetly to give my hand a soft squeeze in thanks. I squeeze back and let him replace his hand back into its prayer position.

We drive to Bart's Hospital in content silence and I can't help but smile to myself. This is the most normal thing we've done since my diagnosis and I couldn't be happier to be back in the swing of things. We had been cooped up in the flat for the last three weeks and even though our newfound relationship has brought a lot of interesting and unexplored territories for us, we both, as Sherlock puts it, couldn't wait to experience the thrill of the chase and feel the blood pumping through our veins. We've both missed it.

Maybe my diagnosis isn't the end. Perhaps it can be the beginning of something new.

To be continued...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Look! It's not a sad chapter! Woohoo! I like where this is going and I already have the final chapter'a plotted! I'm so excited and I can't wait till I get to the end! But I'll be sad to see the story end. No worries. It won't happen for a while. Their is still a lot I want to write for this fic. Let me know what you think of it and I'll try to update more often.
> 
>  
> 
> Xoxo,  
> Molly


	7. His Fate Lies in the Balance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hallo!
> 
> Another chapter! Yay! This started out as a horrible chapter that I hated then it sort of spiralled out of control and even though I still don't like it. Trust. Me. It's better then it was.  
> It's half arse written so I apologise in advance for its horribleness, I'll read over it on the morrow and do some revisions.  
> Ah well! On a side note, I like seriously cried whilst writing part of this. So beware of dem feels.  
> *whispers to self evilly* I love murdering all your feels >:)  
> Ahem. Sorry. My Moffat showed there a bit.
> 
>  
> 
> Xoxo,  
> Molly

Sherlock

I can feel myself tremor with the excitement of a new case. Three bloody long weeks cooped up in the flat without a case was dreadful. It's not that no one had any cases. Definitely not that. Loads of cases were offered to me from Lestrade and various clients, but I turned them all down without even taking a glance at them. I couldn't bring myself to take a case and have my ailing blogger exhausting himself trying to keep up with me.

Speaking of John, he has been doing better, but I still worry about him immensely. His wellbeing consumes my every thought. There is not a moment that passes that I don't thinking about him. I constantly watch him at the corner of my eye. I follow him, unbeknownst to him, when he leaves the flat. After he's gone to bed, I sneak into his room, sit on the floor, and watch him sleep. I've dozed off a couple times whilst there, but I always wake early enough so John doesn't see me there. I don't think he'd like it anyways. Of course we are officially together now but, nothing has changes except the occasional cuddling, stolen kisses, and lingering touches. We still sleep in separate beds, but I'd feel much better if John slept by my side.

I am not familiar with the concept of relationships. I know the scientific structure it stands on, but it's difficult for me to provide the physical demands that come with a relationship. I know I love John with my entire being, but I'm afraid that I may not be able to provide John with everything he expects in a relationship. I'm afraid that I'll disappoint him. I have been saving files to my Mind Palace from various romance novels and films on how people act around each other when in a committed relationship. I have been using said information with John and it seems to be working, but I still feel that it won't be enough for him. That it won't be enough for me. I want everything to be perfect for him, even though every day I feel like I am dying all over again. Every kiss, every touch always feels like it can be our last and one day it will be.

I glance at my John who is looking out the window with a small smile playing on his lips and his dapper sunglasses on. I've got to admit he looks good with them on. John senses me staring and looks at me as a full smile spreads across his face.

"What?" He asks, still smiling.

"You look happy."

"Of course I am. You've finally taken a case, we're out of the flat, I feel fantastic, and I have you. What is there to not be happy about?" He smiles at me goofily.

You're dying.

"I can't think of a thing." I smile back.

The rest of our journey falls in silence and we pull up to the entrance of Saint Bart's shortly thereafter.

I hold open the door leading into the morgue for John without thinking about it and give him a small kiss on the lips once inside.

I take off my sunglasses and John does the same. He squints and blinks against the bright fluorescent lights. I can see his eyes water and I place my hand on his shoulder as he pinches the bridge of his nose. With a sigh he puts them back on.

"All the bloody white in here makes the room seem brighter than it is." He says turning to me.

"It's due to the light reflecting off the surfaces." I say glancing around the room, taking in all the white.

"No shit, Sherlock." John jokes elbowing me softly in the side. I chuckle and flip my coat collar up.

"Oh, please, can we not do this this time." John says smirking.

"Do what?" I ask genuinely confused.

"You being all mysterious with your... cheekbones, and turning up your coat collar up so you look cool."

"I don't do that."

"Yeah, you do."

"Do not."

"Yes. You do." He says huskily tuning towards me, spreading his hand across my chest and looking up at me. "And it is one of the most sexiest thing you do." (AN: I swear I have no sodding idea where this came from.)

My eyes widen and my jaw visibly drops as I take in John's suddenly ravenous demeanour. His pupils are huge, shadowing almost the entire blue of John's eyes. I move my hands gently to John's wrist that's not on my chest, taking his pulse. It beats hard and fast.

"You turn me on so bad." John continues gruffly, leaning in to nibble around my jaw. I bit my lip to keep myself from moaning out loud, but a small one still manages to escape me.

John chuckles seductively. "You like that, don't you." He mumbles against my skin as he makes his way down my neck.

My heart slams against my chest as panic begins to drown me.

I don't know what to do. I don't know what to do! Is this what John really wants? Is this what I really want? Oh, of course it is, Sherlock! Don't be daft! Of course you want John! He's your everything.

But is this truly what John wants? What if it is? Would I be able to please him? What if I'm not able to and I just disappoint him? I haven't done this for a long time! I haven't had sex with another man since I was in my early twenties and that was purely for experimental purposes. I've never made love before. I don't know how...

"John." I whisper huskily around the sex filled haze that's clouded my mind. "John, love? Stop."

"Mmm." John mumbles against my neck causing me to involuntarily shudder, but he does not stop.

I inhale deeply ignoring the growing pressure in my trousers and try to get my mind to stop thinking naughty thoughts.

"Love?" I try again, pushing him back slightly. He takes a half step back and looks up at me with a flushed face and pleading eyes. "Listen to me. We've got work to do. If this." I say gesturing between us. "Is what you truly want, we will. But not here. Not in the morgue... Although it does have it's advantages..." I mumble the last bit to myself before turning my attention back to John's when he slaps me across the arm trying to stifle a laugh. "Sorry." I say sheepishly as I take John's face within my hands and become very serious. "I love you so much, John Watson. Is this... me... what you truly want?"

"Yes." He says simply and I rub my lips gently against his as a brilliant plan begins to formulate in my mind. I break my lips from John's and smile down at him.

"Okay?" I ask.

"Okay." John responds, smiling.

John removes his hand from my chest and in that instant, he switches like a light. He went from flushed and aroused to calm and collected in an instant. If I would have blinked, I would have missed the change in his demeanour, but I did see it and I shrug off the disconcerting feeling it gives me when John gives me a comforting smile that makes the corners of his eyes crinkle.

I put the odd feeling behind me as I walk down the hall, letting my coat billow behind me. I speed up slightly, leaving John behind and walk into the morgue looking for the light switch.

"Hi, Sherlock!" Molly greets happily as I switch off half the lights in the room. Her face drops in confusion.

"Why did you do that?" She asks.

I turn to Molly with a pained expression on my face.

"John's not well. I can't tell you everything now, but I... we... will eventually. Don't say anything to him." I say at lightning quick speed. Molly simply nods just as John walks in, taking off his glasses and glancing briefly at me with such warmth in his eyes.

"Hello, John." Molly smiles, glancing between John and I with a slight smile playing on her lips that I try not to smile at, because I know she has her suspicions and that she's right about them. She just doesn't know it yet, but she will soon.

"Hello, Molly. How are you?"

"Oh, fantastic. There has been so many cadavers this week!" She responds enthusiastically. "Oh! No! I-- I didn't mean it like that! It's sad that they died and everything, but they give me work and--"

"Molly." I say cutting her off. "Please stop talking."

"Right. Sorry." She says, embarrassed.

"It's alright, Molly. I knew what you meant." John says, kindly. He's always so great with people. The kind buffer between me and the world.

"Alright, Molly. Show me the bodies." I say clapping my hands together enthusaistically.

She nod and departs, returning shortly with one of the bodies. Probably the first victim and lifts the sheet revealing a young woman beautiful even in death.

"This is the first one brought in. She's nineteen, lived in Cardiff, but went to a clinic here in London--"

"Tell us what we don't already know." I cut her off again. My patience is running thin.

"Right. Sorry."

"Stop apologising."

"Sor--Never mind." She says and looks down at the body. "Her eating disorder wasn't the cause of death as some suspected. Same goes for the two other girls. They were all on their way to recovery when they died and the self-inflicted cuts that all the victims have were not deep enough to cause death. The tox screen was also inconclusive for all of them."

"Definitely a seven." I mumble to myself as John covers a laugh with a cough. It reminds me of our first case together.

We can't giggle at a crime scene!

I smile to myself at the memory and pull on a pair of gloves. I start to examine the body with the magnify glass I keep in my coat pocket. At the corner of my eye, I see John sit heavily in one of Molly's chairs and I begin to deduce him.

Slight bags under his eyes. Keeps pinching the bridge of his nose. Exhaustion. His medicine causes drowsiness.

I look up to see Molly watching me watching John. Her brows furrow in worry and confusion as she cocks her head minutely to the side. I shake my head slightly at her and she sighs quietly going back to her clipboard as I begin my examination of the body.

An unknown time later.

"I've got it!" I shout stepping out of my mind palace. It was the psychiatrist that all the girls shared. They would go in for the weekly meeting with him and he would hypnotise them and inject a slow acting poison under their middle fingernail. It was really quite simple once you looked at all the evidence. The chemical was shown in the tox screen of all three girls in such a low amount it was overlooked. We just need Lestrade and his team to get a warrant and search his office, where they will surely find the evidence. "They all went to the same psychiatrist, he-" I say turning around only to realise that I'm alone. (AN: Forgive this crappy case. I'm horrible at writing cases.)

Where the hell is Molly and John?

I grab my mobile and call John, it rings five times before rolling to his voicemail. I call again and get his voicemail. My heart starts to pound loudly in my ears as I call Molly's mobile. She picks up after two rings.

"Sher-Sherlock."She stutters. It sounds like she's been crying.

"Molly! Where are you? Where's John? Is he alright?"

"Oh, Sherlock." She sobs. "He--He's not alright. We went to go get coffee. He said his head was hurting. But I-I didn't think anything of it. Th-Then his nose started to bleed all of a sudden and he just collapsed." She continues, sobbing more.

I listen to her words and feel my whole world start to turn. I feel sick and painfully lightheaded that I'm afraid I might pass out. My ears are buzzing making everything sound drowned out.

"I was about to come ge--get you when you c--called. They t--took him to the ICU on the third floor." She continues through her hiccups. "Pl-Please, Sherlock. He's asking for you. He wo--won't let them take him for evaluations without se--seeing you. P--Please." She begs crying even harder.

"I'm on my way." I say, trying to sound strong, but I fail as my words crack at the end.

"He's in room 313. Hurry."

I hang up the phone and begin to run as fast as I can. I burst into the stairwell and start taking the steps three at a time. My vision blurs as tears begin to form, but I push them down. I can't be weak right now. I need to be strong for John.

I reach the third floor landing out of breathe, my legs protesting as I push myself to run to John's room. I see Molly in the distance standing outside of his room crying so hard her shoulder's shake and small whimpers escape her lips. She hears my approach and with a sob runs to me. She throws herself into my arms with another heart wrenching sob and I gladly return her embrace. She has made me feel grounded instead of like a balloon threatening to float away.

Our embrace is brief and she pulls away, leading me to John's room.

"He-He didn't know who I was when he woke. He called me Harry, Sherlock." She says, looking at me whilst we fast walk with tears in her eyes. "Isn't that his sister?"

I pinch my lips into a pained straight line and swallow hard. I tell myself over and over again not to cry, not in front of John as I nod sadly to Molly. Silent tears fall down her face in buckets as we reach the window that peers into John's room. I stop in front of it and my heart sinks.

John's lying on the bed paler then I've ever seen him. He's curled up in the fetal position clutching his head with his eyes shut tight. His body is rigid and shaking as a small trickle of blood escapes his nose. A nurse walks in, her back turned towards me and says something to him. He cringes and I can see his lips move as he says, 'Stop talking so loud.' She nods and probably starts talking quieter. I can see John mouth the word 'No' and then after a pause I see his lips say, 'I said I won't go without seeing Sherlock.' At that, I walk into his room.

"John." I whisper.

"Dad?" John whispers as he shrinks deeper into his bed. A tear falls down my face as my throat closes up on me as I take in the fearful tone in his voice. I swallow hard and wipe my tear away as I try not to weep in front of frail man that I love so much.

"No, my love." I say pained. "It's Sherlock."

"Sherlock." He croaks weakly in relief as the nurse leaves, giving me a pitiful smile. "Please shut the curtains. I want to see you and the light... It's killing my head."

I go over to the curtains and shut them just as the lights flick off in the room. I turn to see a red faced Molly with her hand leaving the switch. I nod my thanks and she departs, closing the door, leaving John and I alone in the dim room.

I walk over to John who is still clutching his head and rocking back and forth slightly with his eyes shut tight. I kneel in front of him so we are at eye level and place my hand on top of his very warm one. He removes one of his shaky hands from his head to grasp my hand and opens his eyes.

His eyes are bloodshot and tears are falling down his face. His skin has taken on a grey tinge and his body shakes violently as beads of sweat roll off his forehead.

"It's happening too quickly, Sherlock. It's growing. I know it is." He chokes around his sobs. I have never seen him so utterly devastated before. So completely broken. My strong army doctor now so weak.

"You don't know that for sure, love. You don't know." I respond quietly, trying to remain strong for him.

"I'm a bloody doctor. I know the signs!"

"I know you are." I say, sadly feeling my heart being physically ripped a part in my chest.

I know he's right. All the symptoms he's currently portraying are the final symptoms for someone who only has mere weeks to live, if that. If it continues to grow at this rate, we may only have days left with each other.

"Listen to me, my love." I say with false confidence as I feel my eyes begin to sting. "We all know the signs, but that doesn't mean anything. Okay? It doesn't mean a thing. We won't know for sure until we get that beautiful head of yours scanned." I say bending over to kiss the top of his head. John whimpers out a sob and clings to me painfully.

"I'm scared, Sherlock. I'm so, so scared." He sobs causing his shoulders to shake.

"Don't be." I say, placing one of my hands on his cheek, memorising what it feels like to touch his smooth skin because I know one day, maybe too soon, I will never be able to feel his soft skin again. "I will always be here for you. I will never leave your side. Not ever. I should have been with you when this happened. I'm so sorry. I should have been there for you." I finish in a whisper.

"It's not your fault. You can't be with my 24/7. You have to live some life of your own." He responds trying to comfort me. I feel like a complete helpless idiot. John is the one whose dying and in pain and he is trying to comfort me. What kind of pathetic fool am I?

But like a truth serum has been injected into my veins, I can't stop the words from escaping my lips.

"What life is it if I don't have you by my side?" I reply almost inaudibly as a single tear betrays me and falls down my faces.

"You'll live a beautiful life solving crimes and being brilliant." He says wiping the tear from my face. I grab his hand as he pulls away and kiss the top of it softly.

"I don't want to live without you." I mumble around his hand that's still pressed softly against my lips.

"You have to. You're the brilliant Sherlock Holmes. London will fall without you."

I chuckle sadly as more tears pour down my face. The first tear acted as the release for my body to betray my every emotion and I begin to sob hard. John begins to cry more, because for the first time he's actually seeing how much his diagnosis is affecting me. The brilliant machine Sherlock Holmes now broken beyond repair.

I feel him pull my arm and I glance up to see him scooting over to make room for me to lie down with him. I join him on the bed and we face towards each other as we silently cry together. Nothing we can do can stop our tears from falling so we don't even try. We simply press our foreheads against one another's with our fingers intertwined between us and let our tears of sorrow and unconditional love mingle together.

A couple minutes pass and John begins to drift off to sleep. His eyes have turned heavy and his breathing becomes deep. His eyes slip shut and I watch him intently counting his every breathe as I begin to hum softly to him.

I know John's giving up. He's giving up on this life. On himself. He's accepted his fate and has thrown in the towel. But I refuse to give up. I refuse to give into John's fate. I won't stop fighting and if that means I have to fight for the both of us, then so be it. Their is always a chance he can survive. Always. I will hold onto that hope until the day he stops breathing. I will never give up on him. Not ever. Because he's the man I love. The only person I have ever and will ever love and you never give up on the people you love. You keep fighting for them. Believing in them. Because that's what people do. They keep believing in each other, because sometimes that's all they have left. 

As I think about all of this, I begin to quietly sing the song I've been humming to my sleeping John.

'Lights will guide you home  
And ignite your bones  
And I will try to fix you'

"I'll try to fix you, John. I promise." I whisper kissing his nose lightly just as John begins to shake violently.

"John?" I ask concerned.

I don't understand what's happening. My first thought is a nightmare, which John has often. But when John's eyes slid open and I see his eyes roll back into his head I know that it's not a nightmare. He's having a seizure.

I sit up quickly shouting John's name as I place my hands firmly on both sides of his shoulder pushing down to keep him from hurting himself.

John's body jerks and convulses so hard that his head begins to snap harshly from the immense amount force his body is exhibiting.

I can feel myself sob harder than I ever have at the sight before me. Gross, inhuman noises escape my lips as my tears just keep on falling and falling down my face and onto John's convulsing body. I'm hardly aware that I'm screaming his name until I feel strong hands try to pull me off of him. I fight them not wanting to be torn away from my love. He needs me right now. John needs me and no one can stop me from helping him.

Another set of hands accompany the first sets gripping around my waist and shoulders and I feel myself being pulled backwards. I grasp onto John's bed screaming at who ever it is to let me go. They successfully pull me off and I fall to the ground hard. I try to get back up to go to John when I hear his voice and I just stop like somebody turned me off and I just sit on the floor not hearing anything anymore as I watch the nurses and doctor restrain my still convulsing John.

In the distance, I hear someone calling my name and the presence of concerned individuals around me, but I don't care. I can't feel, I can't think, I can't hear anything. All I can do is watch John being restrained to his bed as the doctor's force a tube down his throat and begin to wheel him out of the room.

I try to get up and follow, but somebody holds me back and I watch completely numb as my blogger is taken away from me. His fate now lies in the balance, teetering on the edge of life and death and all I want is for John not to leave me.

"Sherlock, John's not going to leave you." I hear the voice say again. I didn't realise I've been saying that out loud.

I break out of my trance red faced and teary eyed as I look to see whose around me and my heart sinks.

Mycroft is kneeling next to me with his hand on my shoulder and a fresh bruise forming on his cheek. Molly and Mrs Hudson stand in the distance sobbing into each other's arms. I look drearily over to my other side and see a bloody nosed Lestrade looking at me in concern.

"I'm so sorry, brother dear." Mycroft says softly.

I simply nod unable to speak as the minutes tick on in silence.

"Can someone please tell us what's going on?" Mrs Hudson says through her tears first to break the silence as Leatrade and Molly both nod wanting to know as well.

My shoulders slump as I place my face into my hands and let me tears continue to fall in buckets down my face.

"Would you like me to tell them, brother?" Mycroft asks tenderly.

I shake my head in my hands before lifting my head to look at them all properly.

I peer into all of their eyes, lingering for just a moment longer as they expectantly wait for me to explain. I'm sure they already have an idea about what's going on after the scene that they just witnessed, but they still deserve to know the extent of it all.

"John's dying." I whisper and I hear the room become silent so I take that as my queue to continue. "He has a tumour in his cerebrum. It's inoperable. Incurable." I continue voided of all emotions as I continue to cry silently. "He was given a year to live three weeks ago and n--now" I say gesturing to John's vacant bed. "He may not even have tomorrow."

"I'm so sorry mate." Lestrade says whilst clasping a consoling hand on my shoulder.

"We finally told each other how we feel." I continue my emotions seeping into my words. "We finally told each other how much we love one another and he's being taken away from me."

"You mean you and John?" Lestrade asks seemingly speaking for the whole group. I can see Mycroft smile sadly at the corner of my eye.

"Yeah." I choke out smiling sadly. "It was a week after his diagnosis. I kissed him. He didn't kiss me back at first and I thought I made a mistake. But then he grabbed my head and brought me back to him." I continue more speaking to myself now. "I've never been so happy. I love him." I say looking up to see Lestrade with unshed tears in his eyes and Mrs Hudson and Molly almost encompasitated in sorrow. Mycroft is the only one in the room to remain seemingly unmoved, but looking deeper I can see the pain in his eyes.

"You deserve each other." Molly says quietly, finally strong enough to speak. "I've never seen two people so perfect for each other."

"She's right, dear." Mrs Hudson says. "I knew you two always had a thing for each other. It took you guys long enough to figure it out."

"Maybe too long." I respond.

"You don't know that for sure, mate. This may just be a coincidence." Lestrade adds.

"The universe is rarely so lazy." I say bitterly.

"It isn't." Mycroft agrees. "But it doesn't have to be the end." I turn to him confused as he continues. "Their is an experimental drug used in America for cases like John's. It's only been found to be effective in 20% of its patients, but it may work for John."

My heart had begun to pound in my ears as a new ray of hope shines through the black clouds that have surrounded me since that fateful day.

"I have been working on getting it out here for John. The final paperwork went through last week and the shipment arrived yesterday. In the 20% of patients that it was effective on, they showed a reduction in the growth of their tumour." He begins tentevily then pauses, picking his words.

"Go on." I usher hopefully. He smiles at me sadly and continues slowly.

"2% of the people who reacted well to the medication, their tumours completely stopped growing."

"John has a chance?" I ask wide eyes and borderline giddy with hope.

"Yes, brother dear. However, please don't become too hopeful. I've told you the odds and they are against him, but he does have a chance. The drug is in it's infancy we do not know the prolonged effects of it."

I nod my understanding enthusiastically. "Did you make sure that the supply is the actual drug and not placebos?" I ask seriously.

"Of course." Mycroft smiles. "I had my own personal chemist examine the batch himself prior to the shipment. He assures me that the drug is the actual drug. I have already spoke to John's doctor and he has agreed. All we need is for John to agree."

I smile to myself and feel my heart become physically lighter in my chest. John has a chance. A proper chance even if the odds are against him, but at least he still has odds. It's better then no odds at all.

"Thank you, Mycroft." I say, sincerely as I approach him and give him a rare hug. Mycroft freezes, clearly surprised by my sentiment, but relaxes slightly and hugs back awkwardly and we let go.

"This is great news." Lestrade says happily.

"It really is." Molly says still crying a bit.

"Do you think John will agree?" Mrs Hudson asks.

We all ponder her question for a moment, none of us really sure if John will agree, but then why wouldn't he?

Just as I'm about to voice my opinion on the matter, the door to John's room opens. I feel my world freeze and my feet become rooted to the ground. The room becomes eerily quiet once more as an overworked, exhausted doctor steps into the room clipboard in hand.

"Are you the family of John Watson?" She asks kindly.

"We're the closest family he's got." Lestrade say first and I silently thank him for speaking because I honestly don't think I can without losing it.

John may have a chance with the medicine, but not if he's... if he's... already gone...

"I can only speak to family. Is their anyone you can call?" She asks looking at Lestrade.

I swallow through the hard knot in my throat and step foreword.

"He's my boyfriend." I say quietly. Her eyes widen a bit in surprise, but she quickly recovers herself and gives me a kind look.

"It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Dr. Kahn." She says extending her hand. I take it robotically, shaking it.

"Sherlock Holmes." I say almost inaudibly, consumed with worry.

The doctor drops my hand and tucks a long drown curl behind her ear, meeting my eyes with a sad, steady gaze as she begins to speak softly.

"I'm sorry--"

 

To be continued...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Oh, snap!! Cliffhanger!!! Didn't meant to do that, but I had to end this chapter somewhere. Don't worry this is NOT the last chapter. More to come!  
> But dun dun DUN!!!! The fate of John rests in the balance!  
> Do you think John's alive or did he kiss the angel of death?
> 
>  
> 
> Xoxo,  
> Molly


	8. The Lights Fade Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my loyal readers.
> 
> I apologise for not updating for about two months. I've been going through a hard time in my personal life and writing has been hard. I've been almost done with this chapter for about a month, but I've been indecisive with the end of this chapter (I still don't know of I like it).
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter more than I do. Please let me know what you think about it and vote. Thank you for being so patient with me and I will post another chapter much sooner than two months.
> 
> Xoxo,  
> Molly

**John**

As I sit in Molly's chair I feel my eyes begin to close. Every blink becomes heavier and heavier, each one harder to open then the first. My body feels weak and tired, my exhaustion has taken it's toll.

I've been trying to stay awake for the past hour whilst Sherlock rambles off random deductions to himself as he examines the first body. Well, in truth, Sherlock's deductions are never random. They're always logical and brilliant, like him.

I've been jotting down any helpful deduction in my notebook as I try to stay awake. I see Sherlock look at me through the corner of his eye. His entire body becomes still for mere seconds; he doesn't even breathe. It's as if for that moment that he's become a statue. A beautiful statue of an angel watching over me. I know he's deducing me. I should be peeved that he's deducing me like the criminals we've dealt with, but I don't. It makes me feel safe and cared for. Sherlock. My guardian angel.

Sherlock sighs quietly, releasing the breathe he'd been holding and resumes his examination thus concluding his deductions of me.

After a couple of minutes, Sherlock instructs Molly curtly to take the first body back and bring out the second. I give him 'the look' telling him to be nice and he smiles at me sheepishly. As Molly returns, he apologises and resumes examining the body as I continue to jot down his deductions.

Sometime between Sherlock's examination I must have dozed off. I woke to Molly shaking my shoulder slightly with a puzzling concerned look on her face.

"You alright, John?" She asks hesitantly, picking at her nails.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm alright. Just tired and I've got a bit of a headache. Couldn't get much sleep last night." I lie easily.

"Oh. Alright." She responds quietly. "Umm... Your notebook fell when you were sleeping." She adds handing my notebook back to me. "What... What exactly were you writing?"

"Sherlock's deductions." I say simply and a bit taken aback. Obviously I was writing about his deductions. It's what I always do when on a case.

I glance down at my notebook and start skimming over my notes in head.

_No obvious sign of death._   
_Scarring on the upper and lower arms._   
_Slight discolouration under left middle finger._

"They're just gibberish, John." She says looking extremely worried now.

"What?" I ask confused and look back down at my notebook and my face drops incredulous.

_On vuobois gish fo haedt._   
_Arcngisr no hte preup dna worel rasm._   
_Ihglts roulsdnooicta dnure ftle dimlde grnfie._

It's all gibberish. How could this have happened. I just saw what I was writing, but now it's just nothing. No words can be fathomed out of the scribbling gibberish. It's like I have written it in an ancient language now long lost. The key to crack the code lies in my dying mind, but I'm unable to access it upon will. It comes and goes as it pleases. Will I wake up speaking French one day? A language I have never had the fourtune to learn? Will my eyes turn blind and my hearing soon thereafter? Will I forget who I am, who I was, who I could be? Will I forget Sherlock?

"John?" Molly whispers almost inaudibly.

"Yes?" I say distractedly still stuck in my revere.

"Are you _really_ alright? I'm just... really worried, is all..." She trails off quietly looking down at her shoes.

I grasp onto her nervous hand delicately as if I'm trying not to break the fragile doll she already is.

"I'm fine, Molly. Honest." I lie and feel my head begin to pound harder.

"Promise?" She asks sadly, her eyes pleading into mine.

"Promise."

She sighs out heavily in content, as if she's been holding her breathe underwater and smiles at me.

"Would you like to get a bit of coffee?"

"Yeah, ta, that will be nice." I smile and stretch. My bones and joints creak and pop loudly as all the blood rushes from my head making me woozy. I balance myself on the desk and regain it within seconds.

"Stood up too fast." I smile weakly at Molly.

She simply nods before turning her attention to Sherlock who now has his hands in the prayer position against his lips and his eyes closed.

"Should we tell him where were off to?" She asks curious.

I shake my head, "No, it's best to leave him as is. He won't miss us. I'll bring him back a bit of coffee."

"Alright. Let's go."

We walk in silence down the corridor and to the lift, taking it up to the small employee lounge.

I stumble a bit as we near the coffee and I have to catch myself on Molly's arm to keep from falling.

"Damn air keeps trying to trip me." I grumble jokingly. Molly laughs, but it doesn't reach her sad brown eyes.

_That was odd. It's like my legs just stopped cooperating with me. Like they just literally shut off for a fraction of a second and I couldn't control them anymore..._

I smile at Molly and grab the coffee, pouring her cup first and handing it to her. My hand tremours slightly as I use all my will power to stop it from shaking. She cocks her head minutely to the side as she notices it with a distressed, troubled expression.

I attempt to ignore her as I turn to get my cup poured. As I reach for my cup, everything shifts. I watch my hand reach for my cup in seemingly slow motion. I bring my hand slowly up to my face, turning it forward and back whilst examining it in the odd dream like state I'm in. The task appearing to take minutes to accomplish rather then seconds.

I hear a distant whisper of my name, maybe it was a shout. I can't be certain. Every noise is amplified and suppressed at once. I can't distinguish any noise or where they come from.

I search for my name in the chaos of sounds as I hear the loud thump, thump, thump of my head pounding against my skull.

I turn and stumble, becoming blinded by a sudden array of bright colours. All the sounds are accompanied with waves of colour. The sound from the telly coming out in bleak grey waves as the news broadcasts the case that Sherlock is working on in the morgue. The colour changes to a pretty light blue when the meteorologist comes on to talk about the weather. I shift my attention to a tired, aged doctor speaking to a pretty, young nurse. The doctor's speech comes out in waves of muddled brown with splotches of black and the nurse's sound emits a beautiful light green.

With a jolt, I realise that the colours signify the person and their emotion. It's the most marvellous, petrifying thing I have ever witnessed. It's like having a third sight for perceiving emotions. All I've got to look is look at them as they talk and can see what they are feeling. It's beautiful and terrifying.

The distant whisper of my name breaks through my fascinating revelation. I still can't distinguish where it came from, but at the corner of my eye I see a sudden sharp, short blast of deep orange with hints of bluish, purple weaved into it.

Harry has her hand grasped tight on my arm as tears stream down her face as small blue bubbles escape her every so often when her shoulders shake. I try to talk, but my words don't make sense. They feel big in my mouth and come out in slurs. I shake the increasing pain in my head and try again.

"Harry? What are you doing here?" I say, my words coming out perfectly coherent to me, but my sister doesn't seem to understand. I notice her hand closest to my face has blood on it, but I can't fathom where it could have come from.

"Harry?" I try again.

"Jo--John? You 're nose is bleeding terribly. What's happening to you? Whose Harry? I'm Molly." She cries in cascades of blue.

The image of Harry wavers, morphing into someone else. She turns into Molly; a crying, distraught Molly plagued in blue so dark it's almost black.

I try to comfort her, but the pain in my head takes a sudden and sharp turn. It pounds painfully against my skull. I can hear the blood struggling to make it around my brain. The pain shoots down my neck and back like I've been struck by lightning and I yell out in pain as I jerk and convulse from the nerves in my body feeling like they've been set aflame. I clutch onto Molly trying to break through the pain that's coursing through my head and body.

The pain recedes slowly and I wonder for the briefest of moments if it's already passing, but the blissful pain free moment lasts only a second before pain and searing heat slice through head. It feels like a white hot branding iron is being pressed to my skull and I scream loudly against the pain and clutch my head, squeezing against it.

I feel my body become weak, my heart rate dipping suddenly, and my limbs becoming like lead. The edge of my eyesight becomes shrouded in black that slowly seeps like a shadow against the sun across the rest of my vision until all I can see is the dark, never ending black.

My hearing follows shortly thereafter. The indistinct sounds around me start to fade and fade until not a sound remains.

I'm trapped in my own body with nothing to see and nothing to hear, but I'm still _here_. My consciousness is wide awake in panic and distress. My body is shutting down, but my mind is still on.

I can feel myself being moved and jostled by many hands. I get placed on the cold, hard floor that feels like ice against my skin. I shout out against the chilling, bone piercing cold. Someone with small, soft hands caresses the side of my face. Molly. I choke out a painful sob as I try to will my eyes to see her. To see anything right now, but nothing happens. I remain shrouded in the empty, black abyss.

"Molly." I mumble out around my sobs. I can't hear myself, but I can feel the rumble of my chest as my lips move. Upon saying her name, I feel two small, soft hands on both sides of my cheeks and A gentle tickle of breathing caressing my face. I swallow hard trying to concentrate on speaking. "I... can't... see... I... can't... hear... It's just darkness. Silent darkness... Help me, Molly... Help me..."

Tear drops splatter on my face and I feel Molly bring me closer to her. Moments later I feel hands all around me, grasping tightly. My chest flutters in panic. My completely vulnerable state setting me on edge. I begin to kick violently, successfully getting someone when I feel thin lips against my cheek. The lips begin to move against my cheek, forming words that evolve into sentences that I'm able to discern.

"Please, John. Stop moving."

I listen to the lips that I can only guess are Molly's and I stop fighting. I'm lifted onto a soft, cushiony surface that feels welcoming after being on the ice, cold floor.

As I lie on the hospital bed, it begins to move and I can feel the air rush against my skin. My head lies to the side as my eyes remain open and unseeing with Molly grasping my hand in comfort.

The darkness I can only see begins to turn slowly from black to grey. The grey turns slowly from dark to light. The light grey fades into white. Small blips of colour begin to form. Blurry at first then becoming defined. People and objects begin to take definition until they finally come into a full, but still a terribly blurry view. I'm just glad I can see again even if the painful light against my eyes makes me halfheartedly wish my sight didn't come back just now.

Nevertheless, I choke out a sad, ecstatic sound and look around to find Molly. I turn my head to find her on my other side, talking. I silently thank the army for teaching me how to read lips as I begin to read Molly's.

"It's okay, John. We are going to get you checked out soon." She says as tears roll down her face. "I wish you would have told me that something was wrong. I knew something was wrong..." She says, her lips hardly moving like she whispered them. I squeeze her hand and she looks down at me, sadly.

"I'm sorry." I say, looking directly into her eyes. She stares back confused for a moment before realising I can see again. I smile breaks across her face and she turns to the doctor in charge saying, "He can see! He can see!"

The doctor grabs my face gently and moves it towards her. She shines a light in each eye as a low buzzing breaks through the silence. I turn my head in confusion. The buzzing is uncomfortable and annoying to my ears. The buzzing becomes louder and louder till I can't take it anymore and I clamp my hands around my ears to block out the sound. The sound goes from a low, loud rumble to a high pithed squeal suddenly. I jump from the sudden change in frequency as the sound feels like it's ripping across my head. The pain is so intense I feel myself becoming sick. I start to heave and choke against the nausea building in my stomach. Just as the vomit passes my throat and enters my mouth, a bucket is thrust into my slick hands and I vomit the entire content of my stomach until nothing is left, then I dry heave until that subsides too. The bucket is taken away as I get rolled into my room and the high pitch noise levels off.

I roll onto my side as the sounds of the people around me become clear, but they sound like their screaming. It's so loud. It hurts. I just want it to stop.

"Please. _Please!!!_ Stop shouting!! It hurts!! I can't stand it!! It hurts!!! Just stop shouting!!! Please!!!" I shout. I'm begging, pleading for the pain to just go away.

The room becomes silent and I sigh out thankfully. Three sets footsteps leave the room and two sets approach my bed.

"John?" An unfamiliar voice whispers.

"Mmm." I moan, painfully.

"John. I'm Dr. Kahn. Can you tell me where you are?" She continues in a kind and professional tone.

"Hmm." I mumble painfully not wanting to talk. The pain of moving is just too much to speak.

"John?" A soft, familiar voice whispers. "John. I know it hurts. But please, John. Answer the doctor so we can get you properly examined." Molly says, hiccuping slightly at the end. A tear escapes my closed eyes and trickles across my nose to the tip where it hangs slightly before dropping onto the sheet with a sad plop.

"Hospital." I mumble.

"Good. Do you know why you're here?"

I swallow past the pain and move my lips the smallest I can move them. "Pain. Head." I say through gritted teeth.

"Okay. Very good. Now, John, I'll be your doctor for your time here. We need to get you examined as soon as possible. The pain in your head is obviously severe. It's effecting your sight and hearing. You had temporary blindness and complete loss of hearing. We need to get you checked out as soon as possible. We fear that it may return and cause permanent damage."

Her words break through my ailing mind, but it doesn't affect it. I know I'm going to die soon. I can feel it in my bones. My death is imminent. Perhaps just hours away. Maybe days, if I'm fortunate enough. I can feel my life force etching away. Slowly it eats away at me, making every blink, every breath weaker than the one before. My head feels like it's been sliced open with a knife and set aflame. My blood boils within my head. Sweat beads from my forehead and rolls down my face mingling with the tears that I can't help but to let fall from my eyes. I don't want to go. Not yet. Not ever to be honest. But I know I'll have to leave someday, I just don't want to go now. I need to see Sherlock first. Before they take me away, I want to see him just in case anything happens.

"Sher... lock." I mumble.

"Wh--what is that, John?" Molly asks, placing a hand in my arm.

"Sherlock." I mumble again. "Please... I want to see, Sherlock."

Silence.

"John." Dr. Kahn begins hesitantly. "We need to get you examined now. If you'll please let us--"

"No!!" I shout, angrily. "Let me see Sherlock first!!!"

Silence.

"Alright, John. I--I'll get Sherlock. Just rest, okay?" Molly says. She sounds like she's crying hard. I feel guilty for shouting, but I need to see him. I don't know what would happen when they take me away. I don't know what will happen in the next minute. I don't want to risk not being able to see him again. Just one last time. Just in case.

"Th--thank you." I say, letting my throat collapse in on itself. The tightness makes my eye sting as I wipe away the tears that won't stop falling. I don't want Sherlock to see me crying.

I try to distract my dying mind by cracking open my eyes. The pain from the light makes me want to retch. It sears from behind my eye to the base of my skull. I swallow past that pain and concentrate as I notice a handkerchief on the table next to my bed. I reach out my weakened arm to grab it, but my arm fails me and it falls. I purse my lips and try again successfully grabbing onto the corner of the soft fabric and bring it back to me to wipe up the blood that had fallen from my nose. I get it all cleaned up for the most part, but a small trickle of blood still drizzles down, but I'm too exhausted to care. I just want to see Sherlock.

A couple minutes pass when a nurse walks in and I'm half asleep. The loud thunder of her shoes against the tile makes me want to scream. The whispers of her papers rustling sounds like a tornado. The soft sigh of her breathe sounds like an overtly annoying grunt. I know if I open my eyes I'll be blasted with a rainbow of colour.

"Hello Mr Watson. I'm Amelia. I'll be your nurse for today. How are you feeling?" She says in a normal levelled Scottish voice, but to me it sounds like she's yelling. I cringe against the waves of painful sound and wish to the stars that I don't pass out.

"Stop talking so loud." I moan, fitfully.

"I apologise." She whispers and I sigh in relief. "I take it your pain is a bit not good then. Very well. Dr Kahn is wanting to get your head scanned as soon---"

"No." I say stubbornly as I feel my anger building inside of me. I'm tired of people trying to make me go without seeing Sherlock.

"I understand, Mr Watson, but Dr Kahn is concerned about---"

"I said I won't go without seeing Sherlock!" I shout and a new set of footsteps come into my room.

"John." A voice whispers and I coil against my bed. It's _his_ voice. But that's impossible. He's dead. My father is dead. He can't be here. It's impossible. Can it???

"Dad?" I quiver out, scared. _Oh god._ I begin to hyperventilate. _What is he going to do to me? Please. Don't hurt me! Leave me alone! Please let him leave alone! You're dead! You're dead..._

"No, my love." A beautiful, baritone voice whispers sadly. "It's Sherlock."

"Sherlock." I whisper out painfully as relief flood through me. "Please shut the curtains. I want to see you and the light... It's killing my head." I continue through the tightness that has formed in my throat.

I hear Sherlock's familiar steps walk over to the curtain and the sound of them shutting. At the same time I see behind my closed eyes, the room becoming darker, but I don't dare to open my eyes just yet. I want Sherlock's soft face to be the first that I see.

Sherlock's steps come closer. I can feel the air rush around me at his approach and the scent that always follows him engulf me. I inhale it as if this breathe is my last as Sherlock's strong, gentle hands grasp my arm. I stop rocking and grasp Sherlock's hand and open my eyes.

Tears well in my eyes at the sight before me. I've never seen a man, especially the brilliant man in front of me now, so completely drowned in sorrow. His beautiful, wrinkle less face now aged twenty years. He looks like a man who has fought and lost everything he had. A man so far on the brink that his face shows the pain and sadness that has nestled deep inside his soul. I want to erase his pain and ease his troubled heart, but I know I can't. He's in pain because of me. Because I'm dying and I can't stop the inevitable from happening and he needs to know. He needs to know that my clock is almost down to zero. That my last breathe will be coming soon. Sooner then it should.

"It's happening too quickly, Sherlock. It's growing. I know it is." I choke around my sobs. The pain in my loves face is more painful then any physical harm I have ever been dealt. Worse then being shot. The pain of seeing the love of my life drowned in such sorrow is more pain then I can bare.

"You don't know that for sure, love. You don't know." Sherlock responds, quietly. His head bowing slightly, but our eyes not leaving contact with each other.

"I'm a bloody doctor. I know the signs!" I exclaim, trying to explain, to get across that thick, brilliant brain of his that I don't have much time.

"I know you are." He say sadly as his eyes become faraway and vacant. Seemingly, the information clicking in his mind that I'm _dying_.

"Listen to me, my love." He says confidently as I see tears begin to fill around the rim of his eyes. "We all know the signs, but that doesn't mean anything. Okay? It doesn't mean a thing. We won't know for sure until we get that beautiful head of yours scanned." He continues and bends over to kiss the top of my head. I whimper out a sob and cling to him painfully. I don't want to let him go. He holds such never ending hope that I'll be okay whilst I on the other hand have surrendered to my fate.

"I'm scared, Sherlock. I'm so, so scared." I sob causing my shoulders to shake.

"Don't be." He says, placing one of his soft, strong hands on my cheek, rubbing soft patterns against my skin as he stares intently at me like he's memorising what I look like and feel like. "I will always be here for you. I will never leave your side. Not ever. I should have been with you when this happened. I'm so sorry. I should have been there for you." He finishes in a whisper and looks down. I swallow past the knot that has seemed to have found a permanent residence in my throat before I speak.

"It's not your fault. You can't be with me 24/7. You have to live some life of your own." I respond trying to comfort him. I don't want him to feel this way. I don't want him to blame himself for anything and everything that will happen to me. It won't ever be his fault.

"What life is it if I don't have you by my side?" He replies almost inaudibly, but due to my ultra sensitive hearing I hear it with ease as I zone in on the sad tear that has fallen down his beautiful face. I try not to let sadness of his words effect me more then it already has, but it's almost too hard not to. I can't let Sherlock wither away after I'm gone. He must float on.

"You'll live a beautiful life solving crimes and being brilliant." I say wiping the tear from his face. He grabs my hand as I pull away and kisses the top of it softly.

"I don't want to live without you." He mumbles around my hand that's still pressed softly against his lips. I try not to choke around the new wave of tears that are threatening to overtake me at the meaning behind his words.

"You have to. You're the brilliant Sherlock Holmes. London will fall without you." I choke weakly.

He chuckles, but it sounds sad and his tears have started to fall in quick succession down his face only punctuates his anguish and then he simply begins to weep. His shoulders shake and his face slowly begins to turn red. Sherlock bows his head and his curls tumble down his face bouncing slightly with each hiccup. I break at the sight of my destroyed detective and begin to cry uncontrollably. I finally see, I finally know how much my impending death and diagnosis has affected my Sherlock.

I can't help what I'm doing, I just need him close. The lights are fading out one by one  
and I want my detective by my side as the moments tic down. I pull his arm as I scoot to the other side of the bed beaconing for him to lie down next to me. With only a moments hesitant, Sherlock lies next to me with his face towards mine as we continue to cry. Neither of us care about the vulnerability we have both exposed to one another. Sherlock nudges closer and presses his forehead against mine and intertwines our fingers letting our tear mix together.

More lights fade and I feel a debilitating weakness crash over me. It causes my muscles to cease to operate and my heart rate to fade slowly. I can hear the slow 'dadum dadum' of my heart straining to pump blood to the rest of my body. My eyes begin to turn heavy and I can't fight to keep them open. I become a passenger in my own body once more, but I don't think there is any coming back from this one. I'm paralysed. Unable to fight against my body's surrender. All I can do is listen. I listen to the sound of the fluorescent lights buzzing, the low murmur of chatter in the hall outside my room, a heart monitor beeping slowly in the room next to me. I listen to Sherlock's soft breathing, the strong beat of his heart, the occasional sniffle, and then suddenly, a soft hum.

Sherlock's deep voice hums a song that brings silent tears to my eyes. A song about fighting and hope and love. If I weren't trapped in my own body, I'd cling to the brilliant man that refuses to give up on me. But I can't. I'm stuck. Unable to move or see or shout out. All I can do is listen and listen I shall as Sherlock begins to sing to me.

'Lights will guide you home  
And ignite your bones  
And I will try to fix you'

His voice is beautiful and majestic and it lulls me into a peaceful bliss. My utopia doesn't last long though. My heart rate suddenly picks up in a mere half second and I can feel it become erratic. My mind goes haywire as thoughts and memories from times long ago slams against my closed eyes. Things I shouldn't remember are now visible to me in perfect clarity. My thought come in l  
languages I shouldn't know or understand, but they make perfect sense. I still feel my consciousness. I can still miraculously hear everything that is going on.

"I'll try to fix you, John. I promise." I hear Sherlock say as I feel a soft sensation press against my nose that I can only guess is a kiss. But at that moment my body begins to shake. It's just a tremor at first, by it quickly builds to a violent convulsions. My head snaps and my body jerks. Sherlock shouts my name as he presses down on my shoulders to keep me from hurting myself. My head snaps from side to side painfully. If I wasn't a prisoner to my own body, I would have cursed in pain.

Sherlock begins to sob. Sad, pitiful noises escape his lips as I feel the splash of his tears hit my face. Sherlock screams my name over and over and I try to scream back, but I can't. My mind is becoming erratic as pain begins to bloom from the centre of my head moving outward. I want to scream. The pain. The pain is too much. It's the worst it's ever been. My time is coming. It's almost over now. My last breathe is upon me. I only wish I could see Sherlock one last time. I wish I could kiss his lips and whisper 'I love you' into his ear as he holds me during my final moments.

Pain sears through my head, collapsing my mind, turning it to nothing. The end is here. This is the peak before my mind shuts down and darkness encloses around me. The pain is intense. If I wasn't a prisoner to my own body, I'd be screaming, yelling for someone to kill me to put my out if my misery. No human should have to go through the pain of feeling your skull being cracked open with an ice pick. To feel your mind screaming in pain. No one. I begin to silently beg. I begin to silently beg to whatever god is up there for one thing. One single thing.

_Please. Let me die..._

The moment the thought escapes my mind, the lights fade out and darkness encloses in. The clatter of the hospital bed wheels on tile and Sherlock sobbing becomes distant as the pain subsides and all I feel is peace. The dark, abyss begins to turn into light. A beautiful white blinding light.

I smile to myself without a care in the world and begin to walk to the centre and brightest part of the light before I begin to run. I run and laugh and skip and jump and shout with glee. I've never felt so happy, so care free, and without a worry in the world.

I'm almost to the centre, I can reach my hand out and touch it. I almost do, but I stop. A familiar figure crosses in front of me. The face of a sad man full of love now lost. _Sherlock_.

Sherlock stands in front of me crying. He collapses to the ground and I fall with him, like were tethered together. He sobs into his hands, his curls bouncing and his shoulders shaking. I reach out to touch him, but I can't. I can see my hand resting on Sherlock's quivering shoulder, but I don't feel him and it seems like he doesn't feel me either.

Unshed tears fill my eyes as I look at my detective. I can't do anything to ease his pain and suffering...

"This is all your fault."

I freeze, taken aback by the words that formed from Sherlock's lips. Part of me doesn't believe he said it. He's not even here, not even aware of my presence, but the voice was so distinctly an undeniably _his_.

"Sh--Sherlock?" I ask, tentatively not even allowing myself to blink or scarcely breath.

Sherlock pulls his face from his hand and his eyes connect with mine. My heart fills with dread at the malice and hatred in his eyes that pierces into mine, burning into my soul.

"This is all your fault." He says monotone with cold, dead eyes.

"Wha--what are you talking about, Sherlock?" I choke out.

"You left me. You left me when you promised you wouldn't. It's your fault this happened. You don't care about me. You don't love me, you never had. You lied to me. If you loved me, you would have never left me." He responds in cool, calculated callousness that chills me to the bone.

"How... I... Sherlock... I..." I stutter unable to formulate a simple sentence from the scatter of words in my mind.

"Piss off." Sherlock spats at me as I physically cringe against the hatred in his voice. "You could have fought this. You could have _survived_. But you didn't, did you? You. Gave. Up. You surrendered to your fate when you could have FOUGHT AGAINST IT!!!" Sherlock shouts and I quickly stand up and step away from him wide eyed and frightened. This is not my Sherlock. It can't be. He'd never say that... would he?

"I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I tried fighting..." Sherlock scoffs, but I pretend I don't hear him. " I fought so hard, but my tumour was stronger. I couldn't fight it anymore. I--"

"Shut up! Shut up! SHUT UP!!" Sherlock shouts angrily, standing up as well. "Do you hear yourself when you speak? Do you realise how stupid you sound? Do you realise how stupid you sounded all the time? My god, it was physically agonising being around you all the time."

Tears stream down my cheeks as I stand immobile in front of Sherlock as his cold, aquamarine eyes burn into mine. My shoulders don't shake and I don't make a sound. The only sound is the soft splatter of my tears hitting the ground and the angry, heavy breathing coming from Sherlock.

"I know I'm an idiot." I whisper. "I know I'm stupid and I'm not brilliant. But I love you. I fought to stay alive and to be with you, because I know that you won't be okay if you're alone. The thought of you being alone again after all these years terrifies me infinitely. I don't want you to be alone, Sherlock."

He stands there, not saying a word. He stares at me, looking over me, reading me, deducing me. His eyes turn soft and I think for just one moment, one beautiful moment that I've broken through to him, but then I blink. I blink and the malice, cruel, hatred has embedded itself back into Sherlock's once soft and loving eyes.

He steps towards me, slowly and calculated. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up and I tense as my body goes on high alert.

"Alone is what I have. Alone is what protects me." He says slowly and methodically as he stops near inches from me, looking down upon me like an ant. "You stupid, inept man. You're a _failure_. You have failed in everything. You got yourself discharged from the army over what? A little gunshot wound. How pathetic." He sneers as I look into his eyes with mine now reflecting the malice in his. "You became a doctor at a little shit hole of a clinic, dealing with drunks, addicts, the homeless, and hypochondriacs. How _very_ noble of you." I grit my teeth as he speaks and clench my fists. My growing anger becoming harder to restrain. "You failed at love, John. You were so gullible. So, completely easy to lead on. You're so pathetic."

"What?" Is all I can ask as the last bit of his words throw me for a loop an causes my mind to go blank in its confusion to grasp what he means.

He leans down, bringing his lips to my ear and whispers, "It was an experiment. All an experiment. I _never_ loved you. How could anyone love someone like you. You're a pathetic, failed army doctor. _No one_ would ever love someone like _you_."

My anger snaps at the revelation of his last words. He's never loved me. Never. The lying, cruel, machine. How could he do this to me? After all we've been through! After all we've done! He betrays me like this! He made me love him! He made me believe that he loved me! That I was the only person that could break through his sociopath being and make this callous man, soft, but I was wrong. It was a ruse. An experiment. WHY WOULD HE DO THIS TO ME!!!!!

I shout out in fury and shove Sherlock back with immense force. He stumbles back and almost falls, but I grasp him by his stupid coat he always wears and bring him back to me connecting my fist with his jaw. It makes a satisfying crack and I bring my fist back again ready to connect it with any surface I can on Sherlock's cruel face. Just as I'm about to connect, Sherlock swipes my hands away and they both go flying in both directions. He then slams both hands quickly and bluntly against my chest pushing me back and knocking the air out of me. Before I can even catch my breath, Sherlock punches me on the side of my face with such immense force I go tumbling down. The impact of his hit causes my ear to ring and become disorientated. I shake the confusion from me, but Sherlock is already upon me, pinning me down.

I look into his aquamarine eyes that are now storm grey and almost completely shrouded in black. He raises his fist and brings it back down to me again. He does it again and again, hitting me harder and harder with each hit.

Slam! Blood spurts from my mouth. Slam! My nose breaks. Slam! My eyes swell shut. Slam! Teeth fly out.

My face is slick with blood now and I can't get him off. He's got the upper hand. He brings his fist down again but the blood that coats my face and his hand causes him to slip. I take this split second of opportunity and knock him of of me by slamming my hand into his ear. He howls in pain, clutching it. I grab his arm and push him off of me and onto the ground and pin him down. The tables are now turned.

I grab his neck with my hand squeezing hard as I use my other hand to beat him. I use everything I have, all my force all my energy in caving Sherlock's face in. I don't let up and I don't stop. I keep going. I become entranced in what I'm doing. Captivated by the blood pooling from Sherlock's nose and mouth and the gashes that litter his face. Sherlock does nothing, but stare. He stares blankly at me, not fighting or trying to stop me. He just stares. His eyes piercing into mine, not blinking or flinching with any blow I deal to his already mangled face, but then he does something that surprises me. He smiles.

It's not a smile of condescension or animosity. He's smiling directly at me and his eyes are lite up, no longer the the storm grey shrouded in black, but light blue surrounded by green with flecks of gold. This causes me to stop. I stop hitting him and let go of my tight grip on his throat. The energy I used to deal my hits on his face now completely extinguished. The regret and panic of what I've just done filling me.

Sherlock still smiles up at me and I flinch when his hand brushes across my cheek. But he doesn't hurt me or overpower me. He runs his blood coated fingers against my cheek, stroking it softly as small tears fall from the corner of his eyes, but his smile doesn't falter. It remains shining bright even though you can see the pain he's going through with every fighting breath.

I didn't mean to hurt him. I didn't mean to do any of this to him. I close my eyes and hang my head, lying my hands on his chest. I slow my breathing and open my eyes, staring at his coat now saturated in blood. My eyes slowly trail up to Sherlock's neck splattered with bits of dry and fresh blood. An outline of my hand that had chocked Sherlock's throat has already begun to bloom. I bring my hand to it and trail my thumb across the bruise. I move to his face and I choke out a sob at the damage I've dealt. I slowly remove self from the top of Sherlock, being mindful not to hurt him more than I already have. I sit myself beside Sherlock, sobbing at what I've done and what pain I've put him through.

Sherlock follows my entire movement still smiling slightly at me. I scoot as close as I can to him and pull him onto my lap. I cradle his head in my arms and begin to stroke his blood coated hair with my free hand.

"Now we can finally be together, John." He says weakly, smiling peacefully as blood trickles from his mouth. I cling onto his weakening body, grabbing at his coat as he threatens to slip away from me. His life force is etching away, dimming the light behind his eyes slowly until only a sliver of life is left in them.

"Sherlock." I sob, bringing his nearly completely limp body closer to me. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you. I don't know why I hurt you. Please don't die. Please don't leave me. I'm sorry..." I continue, stroking the tears from his eyes, but I me up smearing more of his blood on his face.

"Shh, John." He whispers, his eyes half way closed and his breathing scarcely detectable now. "It's okay. I'm okay. It's what I wanted."

"Why would you want this, Sherlock?"

"I wanted to be with you. I wanted to stay with you forever and this was the only way. I knew you'd do it. I wanted you to do this. It's why I pushed you, I pushed you to do it and I know that if you believed I didn't love you, you would lose yourself and become lost in your anger of thinking I never loved you, but John, I do love you. I love you more than anything that could be waiting down for me in that world. I don't want to live without you."

"I don't want you to die. I want you to live on and be the brilliant Sherlock Holmes without me. That what you were supposed to do. Scotland Yard needs you. Mrs Hudson needs you. Who else will call Anderson am idiot of you're not there?"

Sherlock laughs, but it's short lived as he cringes making blood gurgling noises in the back of his throat that he coughs away, spewing bits of blood from his mouth. He inhales heavily, wheezing through the blood filled lungs. He opens his eyes weakly, but once they connect with mine they become strong and serious.

"You know I'm not really here. I'm just a vision. An obstacle thrown at you to test which way you'd go. You have a choice, John Watson. It's your choice to choose. Whatever choice you make, I will follow you to wherever you go." He says, smiling up at me with tears in his eyes. "I must go now, John..."

"No. No." I panic and cling harder onto Sherlock, not wanting him to leave me, but I know it's too late. He's starting to fade. I sob uncontrollably, my tears blurring my vision that I try to clear quickly so I don't lose my sight on my translucent Sherlock.

"I love you, John Watson." He says almost inaudibly as his eyes are almost shut and his body almost completely gone now.

In the seconds I know Sherlock only has left I bring my lips to his and kiss him during his last moments in my arm. I know he's not really here, but he feels real as he kisses me back. Our lips rub against each other causing my heart to explode and my senses to be set on fire. I become lost in his kiss as I convey my love and fear for him through our final kiss... But even though the kiss has barely begun, I feel Sherlock's lips stop moving and then an absence of his lips against mine all together. Tears fall behind my still closed eyes. I open my eyes slowly and methodically only to see nothing in front of me.

Sherlock is gone. I look around quickly to see if he's still here, but he's not.

"SHERLOCK!" I shout into the bright white light that surrounds me, but he doesn't come back to me.

I push myself off the ground and I look to my right where the white light turns black, then I look to my left where the white light becomes brighter. I'm breathing heavily as I contemplate my options. It only takes a second for me to come to a decision.

Then I begin to run.

To be continued...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I hope you liked this chapter and I look forward to everyone's opinions and feedback on it. I will post another chapter as soon as I can. I won't make you guys wait two months for it, promise.
> 
> Xoxo,  
> Molly


	9. John...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Everyone.
> 
> First and foremost I am so so so so sorry about not updating in seriously like three months. I'm a horrible, terrible person and you should all hate me for that. I will never forget this story or any of my others. EVER. These stories mean way too much to me to just let them go.
> 
> Speaking of my other stories. I am going to update every one of them. I am going to alternate between them for updates, It'll help with writers block hopefully, because quite honestly I'm at a standstill with this story (ideas are wanted!) and they also deserve to be updated at some point.
> 
> If you like this story then feel free to check out my others. I'm not sure which one I'll update next, but I'm leaning towards my Teenlock as Teenlock makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside lol.
> 
> Lastly, I'm shit at grammar. This I know as an FYI and in regards to all the medical stuff. I'm seriously making it all up so it may not be completely accurate or not accurate at all!
> 
> Now. Read onward, my children.
> 
> Xoxo,  
> Molly

**Sherlock**

"I'm sorry, but we called the time of death for Mr Watson." She says solemnly, not breaking eye contact with me. I don't react to what she says. I just stare, dead inside. I don't want to believe what she's saying as I wait for her to go on when a small smile forms on her lips. "But after I called it his heart started beating again mere seconds later." She says as I swallow past the hard lump in my throat as the strength to hold myself up threatens to give out. "He's in a coma and the odds of losing him again are possible, but he can pull through and wake up." She says seriously, but hopeful.

"Do you... Do you think he will?" I stutter trying to reign in my emotions.

_He's alive. He's alive. He's alive. My John's alive._

"It's possible, but I can't be certain. He was technically dead for almost 5 minutes and the odds of coming back the way you remember him after being gone that long is unlikely, but he pulled through. He's strong, Mr Holmes."

"When can I see him?"

"We are running an array of tests on him now, due to his condition he gets priority so it shan't be too long." She says as I nod. "However, I must ask three of you to leave the room. We can only have two visitors in at a time. I'll let you decide who stays. Now, I must go and check on Mr Watson."

"Thank you. It's Doctor though. Dr John Watson" I say proudly.

She smiles fondly looking down as she brushes a stray hair behind her ear again. "Dr Watson, of course. I must check on him." I smile at the respect in her tone for my John.

"Thank you again." I say sincerely, stepping towards her and enveloping her small frame in a soft hug. She return the unexpected act after just a moment of surprised hesitation before I whisper for just her to hear. "It's not your fault, you know." She freezes. "You couldn't save your husband, just like I can't save my John. But we can be there for them and that's what you did." I finish pulling away to see disbelieving tears form in the doctor's eyes.

"How did you-- Never mind." She says shaking her head and knowing exactly how I knew. "Thank you." She says stepping towards me once more and hugging me quickly.

"No. Thank you for taking care of my John."

She nods, smiling at me as she leaves the room. I watch her depart and can't help but pity her. A doctor of neurology who lost her husband to the same fate as my John's. Her loss fuelled her passion for being a doctor and drove her further into her study to find a cure for the condition that she lost her husband to and what my John is currently going through. She blames herself for not saving him, even to this day she blames herself, but there is nothing she could have done and it was time someone told her that. The guilt that radiates off her blinded me the moment she stepped through the door. A guilt she shouldn't feel.

"Maybe you should take your own advise, brother dear." Mycroft says, standing right behind me.

"I know." I say quietly. "But John has a chance, unlike Dr Kahn's husband. This drug did not exist when she lost her husband."

"Whilst this is true, the drug has a low effective rate. You must not blame yourself no matter what happens to John." He says seriously.

"I know. I know. I won't." I say distractedly, thinking about what John is doing and if he's okay.

"Sherlock." Mycroft says curtly, turning me so I face him. "Promise me, you won't blame yourself."

I blink profoundly at him and nod my promise.

Mycroft's eyes linger on my face tenderly. Pain has etched it's way into the depths of his eyes and nestled a home there. His eyes were once the mask of the cool, indifference he once wore, but now they peer into the soul of a broken man scared and worried about his little brother. The only family he has left.

Lestrade steps beside my brother and rests his hand gently on my brothers back. Mycroft relaxes just slightly. My eyes widen in response as the puzzle pieces click together in my mind. Mycroft's eyes break away from mine once he realises what I've seen and looks down as

a smile tugs at the corner of his lips. Giving me all the confirmation I need.

"Knew it." I think smugly.

"I should really be going." Molly pipes up suddenly breaking the silent conversation I'm having with my brother. "I've got to get back to work." She says pointing her thumb behind her and to the door. Her eyes are still puffy and red from crying as she glances between Lestrade and Mycroft with a sad glisten in her eyes.

"Oh." I breathe out quietly.

"What is it, brother?" Mycroft whispers.

"No. Nothing." I say distractedly still staring at Molly and feeling such intense pity for her.

Mycroft follows my gaze as it lands on Molly who still seems to be entranced with Lestrade's hand on his back. He breathes out an 'oh' as well, which causes Lestrade to see what all the 'oh' was about. His hand drop from Mycroft's back as he takes a step forward which causes Molly to step back in response.

"I--I'm sorry. I've got to go." She says, stuttering.

"Molly." Lestrade beacons, but she steps back further.

"No. It's alright... I'm-- I'm happy for you. Really I am." She says as her eyes swim with tears that she refuses to let fall.

I step towards her, but she stumbles as she steps back more and into the wall behind her. I stop and reach a hand out to her trying to get her to come to me, but she won't have it. Tears fall down her pale, heart shape face, rolling down her cheek to her chin where they dangle there momentarily until they drop onto her lab coat. I watch sadly as her coat absorbs her tears as they continue to fall.

"P--Please." She whispers in a sad beg. "I have to go..."

"Molly..." I try, but all she simply does is shake her head and edge her way across the wall and to the door.

"No... No... I'm fine. Honest. I'm fine."

"Please."

"I'll be back up later. I promise. Check on, John. Yeah?" She says with a forced aire of lightness in her tone.

I pause sadly wishing to comfort her, but I know their is simply nothing I could do. Perhaps John would know. He always knows, but he can't help right now. So, I simply nod.

Molly approaches and gives me a tight hug.

"He'll pull through, Sherlock. He's strong." She says against my chest.

"I know." I say softly, kissing the top of her head. "Are you okay?"

She pulls away, but her arms still remain wrapped around my torso and looks into my eyes. "I'll always be okay." She says simply.

"You are an amazing person, Molly Hooper." I say astonished as I kiss her cheek.

She wipes away a lone tear that has fallen down her face and smiles sadly as she departs leaving just the four of us.

We stand there in silence. All of us surprised and ashamed at what we just saw and missed after all this time. Well. Almost all of us.

"What was that all about?" Mrs Hudson asks, looking at all of us like we purposely did something wrong. "Surely, she knew about Mycroft and Lestrade. Goodness, boys. It's not like you're hiding it."

Mycroft and Lestrade look at her startled and flushed. They break their eye contact from her and look at each other then back at her. I smile slightly, but the action feels stiff and unnatural.

"How did you know?" Lestrade asks Mrs Hudson who sounds semi in shock.

"Of course she knows." Mycroft says in exasperation, walking to the window.

"We're you two a secret? Dear me, you're not very good at it." She chuckles. "But why was Molly upset?"

Mycroft sighs loudly from his place next to the window."John, Sherlock. Lestrade, myself. She sees it before it's even there." He says outloud, but more to himself. "Her gaydar is definetly in check, but her straight detector is clearly malfunctional." He trails off.

I pass off a surprised laugh with a cough and try to smother my smile that has bloomed on my pale, gaunt face with my hand. Lestrade stands there looking perplexed, while Mycroft stands there looking... well Mycroft. I smile even more.

In this beautiful, sweet moment it appears that everything is alright. I look around the room, as my eyes consume what I see. Mrs Hudson is smiling at Lestade and Mycroft, who have found their place in close proximity to one another once again. Lestrade looks at Mycroft and his eyes become soft with just the slightest movement of the muscle around his eyes, but the effect that change has is paramount. Love. Mycroft snakes his hand out of his pocket and into Lestrade's. This in turn causes Lestarde to lean further into him.

_He's found himself a goldfish._

"Oh, bugger off." Mycroft snaps not even a moment after the thought swims through my consciousness., but his reprimand is soft. Passive. A delicate smile forms on the corner of his lips as he looks at his Detective Inspector.

Forgetting my place, I look for John. He would be flabbergasted by this all, but as I peer around the room wondering why I feel so cold, I realise he's not here and why he isn't. My smile disappears off my face and my heart slams painfully against my chest radiating pain throughout my body. Weakness courses through me and I back up to for something solid to hold me up. The soft cushion of the couch hits the back of my leg and I sit heavily on the cold, hard surface.

"He'll make it, Sherlock. He's strong, your Army Doctor." Mrs Hudson says trying to comfort me. I smile feebly and nod. "Why don't I go pop back to the flat and fix all you up with some food. This hospital food is ghastly."

"That sounds wonderful, Mrs Hudson, but I must leave. I've got paper work to take care of for John back home." Mycroft says.

"What about you, Detective Inspector?" Mrs Hudson asks with a hopeful smile.

"Quite right, but I must return to Scotland Yard." Lestrade responds looking guilty as Mrs Hudson face drops.

"I wouldn't mind some homecooked food. You're right, the hospital food is ghastly." A small, delicate figure in a lab coat says from the door. Molly. She didn't have the heart to stay away for long. She wouldn't dare to leave me alone again. She saw what happened when I was left alone without John during the two years I was "dead". She doesn't want to repeat that.

"Good girl, Molly dear. Good girl." Mrs Hudson says enthusiastically grabbing her coat and giving Molly a quick hug and kiss on the cheek. Molly smiles and looks directly at me like she's peering into my soul and seeing what makes me tick inside. That's quite simple. It's John. Without him, my soul, heart, and very being cease to exist.

Mrs Hudson's cold, soft hands being placed on mine cause me to break my eye contact with Molly.

"I'll be back in two tics, alright?" She says, looking at me with intent motherly concern. I nod and she makes a soft, sad noise in the back of her throat that's almost undetectable and brings my head towards her, kissing my forehead. She pulls away as the tears that linger on the corners of her eyes threaten to fall. She blinks them away as she straightens her shoulders and smiles at me. She's always so strong.

"Mycroft, be a dear and help me put my coat on."

"Why me?" Mycroft responds, sounding like a child.

"Mycroft!" Lestrade and I shout together, as Lestrade elbows him in his side for added punch. Mycroft looks at him cross as Lestrade motions with his head to help her.

"Oh. Right. My apologies. Right away." He says, sulking slightly and rubbing his ribs. Lestrade rolls his eyes, but smiles at his British Government as he walks up to Mrs Hudson and assists her into her coat.

"That's a good boy." She says patting him softly on his cheek. Lestrade smothers a laugh as Molly walks over to sit beside me on the couch and sticks her small hands into mine. I wrap my larger ones around hers and easily envelope them.

After Mycroft has helped Mrs Hudson into her coat, she walks over giving me one final kiss on my cheek before departing.

"Be strong, dear." She says softly and I nod, the lump in my throat not allowing me to speak. She steps aside and Mycroft stands behind her, but instead of turning towards me, he speaks to Molly and whispers in her ear so I can't hear.

Molly's expression is at first surprise, but that doesn't last long as it turns soft and understanding, then sad. Mycroft pulls away and Molly nods, leaving me to deduce the contents of their secret conversation, but coming up blank. Unable to deduce a simple conversation has left me feeling more vulnerable and weak than I already was.

"I'll send a car later this evening for you." Mycroft says turning to me.

"No need." I respond instantly and slightly defiant. "I would think you'd know me better to believe I'd leave John for a moment by himself."

"I know you won't, but it was worth a feeble attempt." Mycroft says truthfully. "Take care, brother dear." He finishes, placing an uncertain hand on my shoulder then stepping away.

"I'll be back after work. Check up on John, mate. I've got a couple cases I need to attempt to solve." He says defeatedly. "Say, mate, you wouldn't happened to have solved the deaths of the three young women?"

"Oh. Yeah. I actually did. Right before... John." I say awkwardly, now remembering the case I solved this morning. "It was the psychiatrist all the women shared. It's the only thing they had in common. He injected a small amount of poison under their nails and into their skin whilst hypnotised. The poison is called ricin. The smallest amount of ricin, the amount the size of a pin can kill someone. The symptoms start out as flu like, within 48 hours the victim is dead. If you check his office, you will find the poison hidden there." I say mechanically and voided of any pride I once felt when I rattled off my deductions that solved a case. I only felt that way because John made me feel proud of my ability to solve cases with my deductions. I have always been able to deduce, but John was the only person that made it feel like a gift rather than a curse. He always said it was amazing...

"Brilliant, mate!" Lestrade says relieved. "One less murderer of the street."

I just nod, not caring.

"Right. Well..." Lestrade says awkwardly, miffed by my detached emotion to the case. "I'm off. Thank you, Sherlock."

"Lestrade." I acknowledge and with that Mrs Hudson with Mycroft and Lestrade hand in hand depart, leaving Molly and I sitting on the couch in John's empty and quiet room.

We sit in silence. Molly's hand sits delicately within mine a she rubs the inside of my palm with her thumb. I glance over to look at the profile of her small face. She is looking down at our conjoined hands, lost in thought. As I look over the profile of her features, I'm once again stunned by her underrated beauty. Her soft dark brown hair lies across her shoulder, framing her heart shaped face. Her skin looks soft with a natural pink undertone that always graces her cheeks. Her dark eyes are always kind and welcoming. Her small nose, perfect in every way and her lips thin and always nibbled on anxiously. I smile to myself.

At that moment, Molly looks up to find me smiling at her.

"What?" She asks, starting to smile, too.

"You're beautiful." I say simply and with such honesty that it seeps into my words to her.

She makes a sad sort of half laugh and shakes her head. "No, I'm not Sherlock. But thank you anyways."

"No, Molly, you are. You are one of the most beautiful people that I have ever had the pleasure to know. I am so often unaware of the beautiful, but listen to me Molly when I say this. You are the most beautiful women on this world and don't let anyone tell you otherwise. You are a far cry from being just average and you don't get told enough on how amazing and beautiful you always have been." I say sincerely as I punctuate every important word by squeezing her hand slightly.

"Sherlock." She says quietly.

"Someone needed to tell you that you are worth it. You are worth everything in the world and more."

Before I could have time to deduce it, Molly springs herself on me and wraps me in a tight hug. She clings to me hard, but I don't hesitate in returning her embrace.

"Thank you." She whispers into my ear.

"Molly Hopper, you keep me right." I whisper back.

"I'm sorry about... earlier." She says as we remain in our embrace. "That was foolish and not right."

"Don't be. You had every right." I say, honestly, because she does. She falls in love only to be broken yet again.

Molly pulls away and rests her head on my shoulder as I rest mine atop her head. I wrap my arm around her thin waist and hold her hand with my free one.

We sit contently not saying a word, because we no longer need to. I know that Molly and I will always have each other to lean on during tough times. We will always be the friend to go to when things aren't going well. I still have my John and I hope that I have him for years to come, but I also found a friend to hold onto for a lifetime and that's Molly.

As Molly and I sit together we hear the nearing sound of wheels against tile approaching. We pick our heads up quickly and look at each other wide eyed. My heart starts to pound and almost jumps out of my chest as I see Dr Kahn and a nurse wheeling John by the window and into his room. Molly and I stand from our place on the couch as we watch the doctor and the nurse hook a pale and comatose John to various pieces of equipment, including life support.

My heart plummets and I sit heavily back on the couch again as inevitable and unstoppable tears spring from my eyes. Molly sits next to me as her eyes pool with tears of her own that she refuses to let fall.

Dr Kahn approaches, pulling a chair from the corner with her and sits in front of Molly and I.

"I know this looks bad, but it's necessary." She begins. "Your boyfriend died. He did not have a heartbeat for almost five minutes and brain activity after that amount of time was minimal if not nonexistent." She says seriously.

"Is he... Is he brain dead?" Molly asks and I squeeze her hand tightly preparing myself for her response. Seconds tick by, but it feels like decades in this tense moment.

"No." She finally says and I let out a massive breath I just realised I was holding in. "His brain is completely alive and functioning just like he was before his seizures."

"Seizures? As in more than one?" Molly asks.

"Yes, seizures. Dr Watson had three in all. The first one which you of course did see Sherlock. The second one after we wheeled him from the room and into one of our better equipped emergency rooms and the last one was the one that stopped his heart. We gave him an anticonvulsant drug to help with his seizures. His body cannot breath by itself, hence the life support. But with his brain completely active and working, he may. Only time will tell. Now, in regards to the experimental medicine that your brother received from America. We need his consent in order to start the medication, since he's unable to do so because of his condition we have to speak to the person he has named to take over all medical choices if he is unable to do so."

"Okay. Who is it? Have you called them yet?" I ask, finally speaking.

The doctor remains silent and slightly perplexed.

"Sherlock." Molly says softly and I look over to see her crying slightly. "It's you."

I feel my heart stop and then pound into overdrive. My brain not even comprehending what Molly has just said. I look past the doctor and to my blogger. I watch the rise and fall of his chest accompanied with the mechanical suction and release of the life support machine. He looks pale and tired even though he is indefinitely asleep until his body wakes... If he ever wakes. I'm about to ask how long I've been next of kin for John when the puzzle pieces click together.

"I made John my next of kin six months after we became flatmates. I knew that I could trust him if something happened to me. When I went to Mycroft to start the difficult process of making John who is not a blood relative or spouse my next of kin, he already had everything prepared. I passed off his preparedness as simple deductions of my intent, but that's no longer completely the case. He did deduce my intent, but he already knew the process because John went to Mycroft first after he was turned away from making me his next of kin. After that time we've spent living together, he knew that if anyone could make something like that happen it would by Mycroft. So he went to him. Mycroft fought the battles to make me John's next of kin and once approved, he prepared the papers for me to do the same, because he knew that I would do the same eventually. Like I said, he deduced it. So when did he go to you, Mycroft?" I ask Mycroft who has been standing discreetly in the threshold of the door since I started my deductions.

"He came to me five months after you two became flatmates." Mycroft says, walking over to John's bed and looking at everything he is hooked up to with a sad expression upon his face. "I was, as you would say, surprised no less, but he seemed set on it. Said he can trust you over his own family. I tried to tell him that trust is easily broken, but that didn't detour him. That same speech didn't detour you either, brother mine." He finishes turning his attention to me.

"Thank you." I say simply. I don't know why I'm thanking him really. He hasn't done anything in this exact moment that would warrant a thank you, but seeing everything he has done for me and John overall does. He has always gone above and beyond for me and I had took that for granted all my life.

"Anything for you, brother." Mycroft responds, softly. "Now. Enough of this emotional sentiment." He continues, causing me to smile as he goes back to pretending that he is emotionally detached. "All we need is your consent to start the medication. Dr Kahn has hopefully assured that this medication does not conflict with any of the other medicines he's on?" He asks, turning his attention to the doctor.

"Oh, yes. Of course. I made sure none of the medication he is on would conflict with each other in anyway and the experimental drug was no exception." She says, confidently. "We don't know how his body will react to the medicine yet, only time will tell but I do want you to know that I am fully committed to help Dr Watson. I have dropped all my other patients to become John's personal doctor." Dr Kahn says kindly. I look at her stunned. What a remarkable doctor she is. Almost as remarkable as my army doctor.

"I have assured that the cut back in her patients hasn't affected her salary." Mycroft interjects.

"Thank you for that, Mr Holmes. It was unnecessary, but appreciated." She says sincerely.

"Mmm." Is all Mycroft says for a response.

_Arse._

"Alright Sherlock. All we need is your consent and we can proceed with the medication."

I pause. I don't know why I pause, but I do. I look at John lying in his bed unmoving. His comatose body not even allowing him to breathe on his own. The mechanical inhale and exhale of the life support machine invades my ears. The noise sets me on edge. It's a brutal, constant reminder that without the machine, John can't breathe. Without that machine, John would die. I stand and walk over to my dying blogger. The short walk seeming to take ages in my exhausted mind. I reach his bed in what seems like centuries and look down at my once strong and brave army doctor who now looks so frail and broken. I kneel down next to him and gently sweep his hair from his forehead. I continue this motion as I simply just look at John and become transfixed in the man who has captured my heart and held it as his. Such an amazing man. He's been through so much in his life. War, injury, loss, heartbreak, and now this. This beautiful man doesn't deserve any of it. He deserves to live out his life how ever he pleases, even if in the end he decides he doesn't want to spend it with me. Perhaps this medicine will work, perhaps it won't, but we have to at least try... But would John want to try? Would John want to proceed with this option? I wish I could deduce this question that puzzles my broken mind, but I can't. My skills of deduction have been compromised with sentiment. The possibility of losing John has overshadowed all else. My mind palace now formally in ruins. But if we don't try this option, we will never know if it will work for him. So we have to at least try, even if in the he doesn't want to fight anymore. Once he wakes from his coma... if he wakes, I'll ask him. Ask him if I did the right thing for him, because I honestly don't know if it is and I need his reassurance that I did. But if I did choose wrong, then...

"I apologise in advance, my love. But we have to try." I whisper to John as I move my hand from stroking his hair to stroking his cheek softly. I bring my lips to John's forehead and kiss it softly, lingering tenderly there for just a moment longer.

"We will proceed with the medicine." I say quietly whilst standing to turn towards everyone.

"Fantastic." Dr Kahn says smiling. "I'll get the medicine and start it right away." She says and bustles out of the room.

Mycroft approaches and looks down at John. "Are you sure this is what he wants?" He asks.

"No, but I have to at least try." I whisper, as a single tear falls down my face. Mycroft clasps his hand on my back, rubbing his thumb against the surface of my coat.

"It's the right choice." He says comforting.

"I hope so." I whisper.

To be continued...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys liked it. I'm meh about it, honestly. Check my other stories for updates!
> 
> Xoxo,  
> Molly


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